Til Macho Man Do Us Part

Lately, I’ve become a nagging, critical shrew.  As usual, the man who married this shrew just lets my nonsense slide off his back, thus highlighting even more acutely what a petty jerk I've become.  I’ve given him lots of opportunity to complain about me, but he just won’t do it.  Therefore, by being nice, he just gives me one more thing to rag about.  What are my top three annoyances lately?  Here’s a concise bulleted list for you to enjoy:

• He’s starting to go bald
• He still hasn’t planned our yearly camping trip
• He’s complete trailer trash

Because I cringe at the shallowness of my gripes against a man I’ve loved for over 20 years, let’s just discuss item three so that I can win you back to my side.  Seriously, this crime alone is divorceable, and I’m a saint for putting up with it.  Before you get all excited about me using the term “trailer trash,” take a deep breath, because he really did live in a trailer when he was younger.  An actual double wide that my mother in law had turned into a right comfortable place to live in.  She’s actually quite a classy lady in my opinion, so I’m sort of hoping she doesn’t read my blog as I sit here roasting her son... and I guess her...  Sorry Inger.

What exactly makes Jared trash?  Let me give another concise bulleted list for your convenience, which is by no means conclusive:

• He would wear Hawaiian shirts 24/7 if I would let him
• His favorite meal is a vomitous concoction called “bacon, eggs, and corn”
• Monster truck races nearly make him giggle with glee (notice I said nearly) 
• He loves professional wrestling EVEN THOUGH HE KNOWS IT’S FAKE

I could continue with his trashy crimes, but I really just wanted to talk about his lame love of professional wrestling.  Why didn’t I just start the blog there?  Well, because I sort of wanted the post to be a little longer... and I also wanted everyone to know my husband is going bald...  I digress...   My most current example of Jared’s ridiculous wrestling problem centers around the following picture Kayley sent me of a treasure she found in Salt Lake City:

Despite the nose being rubbed off, he had the look of a professional wrestler to me, so I made the mistake of asking Jared about it.  Here’s the exchange it provoked with Kayley...

One might accuse me of being complicit in the above scenario, seeing as how I recognized the doll as a wrestler, and then baited Jared into telling me about it.  However, if I had never fallen for that trashy tub of guts, I’d still be in ignorance about the inner workings of professional wrestling, and would still have the luxury of looking down on those who enjoy that lame sport with disdain.  How can I continue to deride the nasty demographic of professional wrestling fans when I went and married a member of it?!  Again.  His fault.

Up until Monday of this week, I had nearly made up my mind to file for divorce - the trash factor had finally become too much and I was ready to move on with my life.  Ready that is, until the trash pile managed to pull off this feat:

Yep.  My prolonged move to Rhode Island effectively put a kibosh on my riding for the last three years, and the old gal needed some maintenance to get started this season.  I'm so excited to start riding again, I can barely stand it.  My lover even fixed my horn which has been broken since I first purchased my bike.  Take a listen:

I know.  It sort of sounds like a clown horn, but at least it's working!  Yep.  I've been taking the trash...  I mean, my lover, for granted lately.  Who cares if he's on his way to a shiny dome up top?...  What does it matter that he still hasn't booked a campsite even though I've been nagging about wanting to go hang out in the Berkshires for months?...  Who...  Wait.  What's this?  What shirt did you have the audacity to wear in public again today?

That's it.  Divorce back on!  And remember...  You're taking all the kids...