Gary Fisher

My husband loves me.  A lot.  But sometimes i feel like he is my parent. Example:

*A few weeks back*

Hubs: Hey do you have a pen? I need one to write in my journal.

Moi: Ya, rumage through my purse, theres one in the bottom somewhere.

Hubs: Why is your camera in here with all this crap and not in its case?

Moi: Silence for the evening. (Silence in my specialty)

Hubs: (Insert long 'lecture' on how to take care of things)

*6am This morning*

I come downstairs after a sweat session with horse face michaels

Hubs: Someone stole my bike! I left it out in front of the house last night and its gone.

Moi: Oh, really? Dang babe, you didn't put it away last night? You can take my car to work.

Hubs rumaging through his drawers

Moi: Are you looking for like a vin number or something to give for a police report

Hubs ignores. Moi: Oh, i'm sorry, did i ask you a question? Didn't mean to talk.

Hubs: I just got a freaking $2,000 bike stolen and you're not even caring!

And there i sat. Pondering if i should let him stay mad/frantic/upset all day or not...and what i should say to the Police Officer who would likely swing by the house later in the day to ask questions.  Yes.  I took this golden oppertunity to hide his bike.  The precious Gary Fisher. Vanished. Me oh my! I knew to put it on the right side of the house because he'd look on the left.

 Touche', Dustin.

And so a lesson was learned.  And we laughed. 

Then the kids and i went on a little adventure through the neighborhoods for a short cut to Settlers Park. Which ended up being a classic Paige Long-Cut, but we made it.

Boston would not stop saying "Quesadilla!" rather than "Cheese!" when i took his picture. 

Bless him.