Oh, you spring like weather! How you taunt me. You make me stare at the sun dresses and tank tops at the back of my closet and actually believe that I’ll get to wrap them around me sooner rather than later. But I know you’re a flake, and you’re flighty. And you’ll leave me disappointed when another snow flake falls, which is of course inevitable, although I thought I lived in Georgia.
Also? I could get used to it staying light out later. Last summer I used to marvel at the fact that it was 9PM and still light out. I felt like I got so much more done in my days. Dare I say it? I’m ready for summer?
Valentine’s Day is tomorrow. And Hubs and I have already celebrated, so it’ll be just like a normal day. But I told myself this year would be the year I make up my mind. Valentine’s Day: Love or Hate? I’ve always had a love/hate relationship with the day, but I think, in all honesty, I’m one of those people who claim to hate Valentine’s Day with no real reason. And truthfully, Valentine’s Day is the exact kind of stuff I daydream of and write about. That mushy gooshy kind of love. And people will tell you over and over that crap like that isn’t real. But it is, you know. Girls will try to tell themselves that “no guy is like that.” They’ll try to justify to themselves that the jerk they’re with is a normal guy because no guys are romantic and respectful. I’m here to tell you that there are guys like that out there. I’m married to one of them and friends with many of them. And I’m officially picking sides. Valentine’s Day? I guess we can be friends.
Hubs is currently in the living room with a classmate. My house is currently the meeting grounds for a school group project. And I can’t help but feeling that we’re a bit old for this. I was reassured when I walked out into the living room to get the dog and the girl looked at my shirt and asked, very innocently, “Oh, do you go to the College of Charleston?” I glanced down at my shirt, and reply “Oh, no no. It’s just a shirt.” Hubs pipes up and says “Yeah, that’d be a bitch of a commute.” Yes. Because I live here, too. He’s my husband. We’re married. I’m not just his girlfriend who is visiting for the weekend, which I’m sure is the world she’s most familiar with being an undergrad and all. This all relates into the conversation my old co-worker and I were having a few weeks ago while we were out at a bar downtown. And a side note, if you’re not familiar with Athens, Georgia or it’s night life downtown: it’s one huge-no, giant college party. We wandered out to the bars kind of unintentionally, so we weren’t actually “dressed” for the occasion. We were in normal clothes, not dressed to the T like all the girls are downtown Thursday-Saturday. We were bobbing to the music and glanced around and came to the conclusion that I had three strikes and should be out: 1) I wasn’t dressed appropriately 2) I am over the age of 22 and 3) I’m married. 3 strikes–you’re out! I think it’s time to leave the college town…I’m officially feeling old.
Have a great week, everyone!