I’m an open-mouthed sleeper, which often results in chapped lips.
You know, from drool.
(Someone married me!)
To remedy this problem, I have asked Eric to please close my mouth for me while I sleep. As any husband would do for his wife.
Me, this morning, upon noticing my lips are chapped: “Ugh, this is all your fault– you didn’t close my mouth in my sleep!”
Eric: “I prefer to close your mouth when you’re awake.”
Eric: “The woman breeding our future puppy was so nice when I spoke to her on the phone, and she really just breeds for the love of it– in fact, once the dog is ours she wants us to keep her updated on how he’s doing, because she cares that much about each of her pups, she just likes to know what they’re up to. How nice is that?”
Me: “You mean we have to keep talking to her?”
Me: “Ok, so I thought about it and it turns out I don’t actually have to feel guilty that I’m going to the Outer Banks a couple days before you. I mean I still do feel guilty, but I don’t actually have to.”
Eric: “Huh? Why would you feel guilty?”
Me: “Because I’m leaving you here alone to go have fun! But then I thought, if we add up all the hours you were at Phish without me, then really, we’re even on the ‘I’m doing my favorite thing without you’ scale. So, see, I don’t really technically have to feel guilty.”
Eric: (silent bafflement)
Eric: “That can’t possibly be how your brain works.”
Oh, but it is.
Eric: “So I was just with an older woman in the laundry room and she sees me putting clothes in the dryer and she’s like ‘What is this– a man doing the laundry? Really?’ And I was like ‘Yeah, of course!’ and she’s like ‘Really? Wow. Your wife doesn’t do the laundry?’ and I was like ‘Well, my wife and I split the chore 50/50– she does all the folding, so I do the washing and drying part’ and the woman was like ‘Oh my goodness, your wife is SO lucky!'”
Me, throughout this entire story:
It’s exactly as romantic as they say.
Me (drunk, staring at donut wall, turning to random older man next to me): “So which donut should we eat?”
Random man: “Definitely the cinnamon.”
Me: “That’s what I was thinking!” (grab donut, stuff my face, continue talking with mouth full) “So what’s YOUR connection to Phish?”
Random man: “Trey is my son.”
Me: “Oh! Wait, what? Really? No WAY! Are you, like, SO proud?”
“Ok I joined every corgi Facebook group.”
— Eric, 4 seconds after I agreed to get a dog.
Turns out I cannot deposit this check written out to “Mr. and Mrs. Taylor” while I am still technically Emily Lerman.
This is how it begins.
Tutoring 2nd grade boy in the public library….
Kid: “So now you have a husband?”
Kid: “Before he was your husband, were you guys dating?”
Me: “Yes, we were.”
Kid: <Dramatically puts head in hands, pulls at his hair, and makes extremely loud, prolonged barfing sound. Entire library stares.>
Me: “I know. I completely agree.”
“I just licked my hand because I thought there was mayo on it…but it was my ring.”