Wednesday, July 25, 2012

Pretend This Is a Picture

On Monday, the husband and I celebrated seven years of wedded bliss.

We commemorated the non-itchy occasion by going to dinner. Then, in the tradition of seven year anniversaries, we went bowling.

What? That's totally a thing. One year is paper. Ten years is tin. Seven is bowling.

It is common knowledge that I am the world's worst bowler. Typically, I bowl my age. If I were seven.

When it comes to knocking down white pins with brightly colored balls, the husband does not sucketh. So it goes without saying that I never come close to beating him.

Until Monday. When I actually was beating him.

True story.

It was the sixth frame and I was kicking his ass. Knowing no one would believe this without proof, I grabbed my phone to take a picture. But it was dead because of course it was.

I yelled at the husband to give me his phone, but he just ignored me and took his turn where he knocked down, like, 37 pins at once. Which was both inspiring and confusing because I'm pretty sure there's only ten available pins, but math is hard, so whatever.

Had I taken a picture, this is what the screen would have looked like:



I didn't end up beating the husband, but I did bowl a 142. Or a 137.

Either way, that's, like, a whole lot more than my usual seven. I was all, "In you face, world! I am awesome and you should worship me!"

Then I bowled a 1 on the first frame of the third game. Which, naturally, I blamed on the fact that I had to pee. Then I bowled a gutter ball. And then another 1, which made the husband yell, "Go to the bathroom!"

After that, very bad things involving wayward balls and stubbornly upright pins happened and I consoled myself with a Brownie Bowl a.k.a. Bowl of Awesome.

It only stands to reason that two, young, healthy, finely-tuned athletic machines such as ourselves would experience excruciating back pain after only three games and hobble to the car. When we got home, we rubbed each other down with Bengay and got ready for sexytime.

Just kidding.

We didn't use Bengay. We used Bio Freeze, which I'm pretty sure is the exact same thing only less geriatric sounding.

In case anyone is curious, nothing spells sexytime like the smell of menthol between the sheets.

All in all, it was a fantastic anniversary. Definitely a very close second to our five year, in which we celebrated in the Turks & Caicos, sipping coladas on the beach and swimming with sea turtles.

Happy Anniversary, the husband! I love you more than words can describe.

P.S. Can you do me a solid and scratch my right shoulder blade? I've suddenly developed a fierce itch. Don't worry, I'm sure it's just a mosquito bite.

Probably.

P.P.S. Seriously, though. There's no one I'd rather spend my life with. *Smooches*

Thursday, July 12, 2012

Don't Call It a Comeback

You know when a blogger doesn't post for a REALLY long time, but then they finally do and the post is amazeballs and totally worth the wait?

This is not one of those posts.

My bloggy well has run dry.

But here's a picture of a monkey.



And because I'm feeling generous, here's a cat.


Don't lie. That just made your whole day.

You're welcome.