I married a nearly 35-year-old bachelor.
And it’s so, so clear sometimes.
The other night, he brought potato chips into bed. I guess he thought one special treat—the mere having of potato chips in this Bjerkaas household—called for another.
I mean, honestly, who in their right mind thinks they can bring potato chips into bed?
Every time I rolled over onto a fresh crumble of chip shards… I wondered that very thing. With increasing emotion.
And, what’s with the toilet seat? We dated for how long? (OK, not that long…) And I was over here how many times?! (OK, not too terribly many times…) And never was I faced with the gaping ugliness of the toilet seat being up.
That first week we were married? Must’ve happened half a dozen times. (Small exaggeration.)
Eric himself has breathlessly reported moments of bachelor relapse to me—harrowingly close calls of nearly leaving the bathroom door open whilst he peed.
The terror. The terror!
Yikes-ah.
You’ll have to keep praying for us, as we adjust to life as a “we.” :)
Grumble from downstairs:
ReplyDelete"I do it on purpose, you know."
Me, bewildered, from upstairs:
"Do what?"
Again, from downstairs:
"The toilet seat thing."
Ohhhh, I see.