The last time I posted text messages between my hub and I everyone thought it was hilarious. My husband didn’t think it was that funny, but he has clearly gotten over the lack of privacy he has in this whole blogging world, plus he doesn’t even read my blog regularly. (So stop telling him about it, so we can laugh and have fun.)
Communication is key in any marriage. My husband and I text back and forth multiple times a day. Meaning I text him multiple times, and he doesn’t respond as frequently as I would like. He doesn’t like to text, so sometimes he CALLS me. Like on the phone. To have an actual conversation. Without emojis. I get really flustered when the phone rings…I’m all like: OMG. WHAT IS THAT SOUND?
Most of our texts are not about who is picking up the kids, or the meaning life. Nope. We are basically 17. So, it is usually sexual innuendo or food. Basic human needs. Root chakra. ALL.DAY.LONG. (I’ll refer to sex as moving the furniture, or playing the piano. Because old people read my blog and they don’t like that I even type sex.)
I ran into a little extra money. Not near enough for what I was suggesting, but enough to buy some beer and make a hilarious joke. You can’t see his answer, but it was just: YES. I GET IT.
I drove into a curb for the 4th time this year. But I got you a burrito. That is true love people.
Our three remaining chickens were possibly dead because no one fed them when we went out of town. I celebrated them being alive by making a muffin. (I will post the recipe soon.)
Oh my. The ultimate. Let’s eat buffalo wings, donuts, and let all that settle before playing the piano. TOMORROW.
Christmas Eve. Happy Birthday Jesus. I like to do all things with a dramatic flair. And all I really wanted in my stocking was the OM symbol and the vomiting face emojis.
When my husband forgets his lunch at work. I don’t get out much. And when I do it is 11am and in a hot yoga studio.
Finally, one that has nothing to do with moving furniture or food. Even though he must love my butt. The caption reads “Little Diddy with Jack and Diane.” I was crying with laughter. He didn’t even LOL. .
All kidding aside…My husband is pretty awesome. I don’t want him to use emojis, wear cologne, or buy skinny jeans. He is a hardworking/old-school/country music-type of guy. I like that he calls me love butt, and that he still wants my donuts. I complain to that he doesn’t read my blog (doesn’t he know I make a tenth of a cent per click?), but if he read it on the regular, I couldn’t post these or all the Hey Girl… photos.