Linking up with Heather’s Just Write over at the Extraordinary Ordinary today!
Last week my husband rode off into the sunset.
For reals. He packed his bag, put on his spandex, and kissed us all goodbye. I love it when he tries to make out with me while wearing spandex. This is a common occurence in our household, and it adds a lot of flavor to the marriage, I tell you.
It is probably good that I explain. He is a cyclist, and decided to ride his bike across our state. Because, evidently, this is what cyclists like to do. He did it with 900 other (crazy) people, and I am told he had a good time.
I had to wonder what nutball came up with this idea.
Cyclist: Hey. Let’s ride across our state, next week. You in?
Other cyclist: Dude. Totally.
I was thinking that it would have been a lot more fun if say, we lived in Idaho.
Or, say, Nevada:
Well. No. Here’s where we live:
BIG, LONG, RECTANGULAR STATE. But our state reptile is the Ornate Box Turtle! So there’s that!
I am totally proud of the hubster. I have to admit, I was kinda worried about him. I had all sorts of prayer warriors following his progress and lifting things up to God for him. We prayed about weather, sleep, tires, and his gluteus maximus. And yes, that does mean I had people praying about his bottom. Mainly, about chafing. How did that prayer sound, I wonder?
“Dear Lord, please protect the hubs as he travels across the state, why we don’t really know, it’s evidently a thing. And please Lord, we lift up his buttocks. Amen.”
I love my husband. I do. But this venture had me puzzled. He seems to be so enthusiastic about things that are just, well, BEYOND MY COMPREHENSION.
Things like, planting your hiney on a teeny tiny bike seat and staying on that seat for long enough that CHAFING on it becomes a factor. WHO PURSUES CHAFING?
He also has enthusiasm for:
- Reading instructions for the Blu-Ray player
- Screaming with other screaming people at sporting events
- Loudly shutting cabinet doors*
- Television shows where it’s just balding men sitting at a table talking about what’s wrong with everything..
Anyhow, even with the Roadhouse thing, I am glad he came back.
Because, he didn’t have to. He chose me. He chose this life. Our exciting, fun-filled little existence where we don’t go dancing at roadside bars to clangy honky tonk, until someone starts throwing beer bottles and the band has to play behind an actual FENCE because, you know, locals.
These are OUR locals:
Yep, he coulda kept right on going.
But then, he woulda ended up in Missouri. Nobody wants that. **
*It is possible I have a slight problem with, um, shutting things. The lawyer wants me to come clean. I dunno. I might have an issue with follow-through. Hubs says he has walked into the kitchen after I cook up something and ALL the cabinet doors are ajar, like that spooky scene in The Sixth Sense where the ghosties come and freak out that already rather nervous little boy…?
I think the hubs might be exaggerating. But that’s what marriage is all about. Exaggeration and accusation. And love.
** I’M JUST KIDDING! I LOVE MISSOURI! SOME OF MY FAVORITE PEOPLE ARE FROM THERE! DON’T EMAIL ME WITH YOUR ANGRY “I LOVE MISSOURI IT’S THE SHOW ME STATE, HOW COULD YOU?” EMAILS. OK?