A delicious, Little Debbie-fed baby bump, aged for 17 weeks.
In an attempt to exercise my soon-to-be-large self, I concocted a ritual to ward off the scorching desert temperatures that will be outrageously more uncomfortable for a person who won’t be able to see her feet.
This sacred custom (hello, Anthropology major in the house) is called walking.
I talked Husband into walking around Tempe Town Lake. I have to admit, I really like it down there, even though it’s in the middle of a big, dirty city. We saw a little boy, who didn’t even look two years old. This kid was booking it on a sweet, wooden bicycle. You should’ve seen how fast those stumpy baby legs were moving!
Back to the real story.
While walking, I started doing some West Side Story dance moves, including the famous crouch/run-jump/snap-in-the-air. That one is a classic. I also added the spin-clap-kick/spread-your-arms-with-hands-extended, as seen in the first scene of the movie.
It turns out that I was the one sending romantic signals to my husband, not you good for nothing readers, even though I asked you so nicely.
...
“I know what I’m getting you for our anniversary!”
(Um… this was 6:30 on a Sunday night, on the day of our anniversary, mind you.)
Without thinking, I guessed, “West Side Story on DVD?!”
And then, that handsome man of mine said, “Yep.”
He didn’t even play it off or anything!! He is so lame sometimes. Crap.
...
So, this morning at work, I get an email from the hubby. He forwarded me the Amazon purchase confirmation with this romantic poem:
Happy anniversary baby! Tell your mom to leave me alone.
Then, he called to tell me that he used my debit card to buy the movie.
This guy is the male version of Aphrodite, if you hadn’t noticed.
And he’s all mine!
...
To be fair, he did the dishes last night, tickled my back before I fell asleep, and made me an amazing omelet this morning. He is sweet in his own ways and I love him.
