You know what's not a good idea? Eating three different kinds of delicious creamy poison cheese on the same day that you get your Monthly Confirmation That I Am Indeed Without Child. I feel a little bit like my uterus and entire digestive system are going to fall out of my body cavity or something. But whatever. I'm still able to type this post, right? What doesn't kill you makes you filled with the delightful memory of delectable, smooth cheesy goodness dancing on your poisoned taste buds. Or something like that.
Anyway.
Yesterday was Annual Fourteenth Day of February. I am proud to say that, after six straight failed attempts, Schmoobles and I were successful in completing this Annual Fourteenth Day of February without it being directly followed by two days of the silent treatment and stinging bitter tears, culminating in forgiveness and an airing of grievances which usually contain choice phrases such as "There wasn't even anything special about that day" and "But you said it was stupid and acted so aloof about it the week before" and "I know it's a stupid holiday, but" and "It seemed like you didn't want to do anything" and "You're supposed to make reservations" and other such assorted ridiculousness. But this year, he played hooky in his evening lab in order to bring home flowers and take me to a nice simple dinner. See how easy it is to avoid my wrath at not meeting my aloof-and-disapproving-yet-ever-present-expectations-on-this-most-idiotic-of-all-hallmark-holidays?
The moral of the story, for all Schmoobleses out there, is that, even if your normally wonderful and easy going girlfriend will make a habit of mocking the holiday and rolling her eyes at all the indulgent and pandering commercials leading up to the Annual Fourteenth Day of February, she still wants flowers. Or salted caramels. Or a plate of assorted cheeses. Or a pack of organic bacon. Or a dozen deviled eggs. Mmm...yeah a dozen deviled eggs would have been stellar. (Did I mention that I am on Woman Time?)
Speaking of cheese. We have a new favorite thing here at the Whatevs household: home crafted assortments of delicious hors d'oeuvres, poisony cheeses, crudite, olives, smoked salmon, bread, hummus, nuts, etc. etc. Sometimes accompanied by a glass of wine and enjoyed before dinner. Or during the NFC Championship Game. We call it Snackums. Like, I prepared a couple plates yesterday so that Schmoobs and I could munch on stuff before we went to dinner and when he walked in the door, his first words were "I got you flowers!" and then followed quickly after by "Ooh, SNACKUMS!" And it was so tasty - and I had enough leftovers - that I actually spent the whole day at work just thinking about getting home and making more snackums.
At work this morning:
Ys: "You know what I'm excited about tonight?"
Schmoobs: "What?"
Ys: "More snackums."
Schmoobs: "Snackums!"
Anyway.
Yesterday was Annual Fourteenth Day of February. I am proud to say that, after six straight failed attempts, Schmoobles and I were successful in completing this Annual Fourteenth Day of February without it being directly followed by two days of the silent treatment and stinging bitter tears, culminating in forgiveness and an airing of grievances which usually contain choice phrases such as "There wasn't even anything special about that day" and "But you said it was stupid and acted so aloof about it the week before" and "I know it's a stupid holiday, but" and "It seemed like you didn't want to do anything" and "You're supposed to make reservations" and other such assorted ridiculousness. But this year, he played hooky in his evening lab in order to bring home flowers and take me to a nice simple dinner. See how easy it is to avoid my wrath at not meeting my aloof-and-disapproving-yet-ever-present-expectations-on-this-most-idiotic-of-all-hallmark-holidays?
The moral of the story, for all Schmoobleses out there, is that, even if your normally wonderful and easy going girlfriend will make a habit of mocking the holiday and rolling her eyes at all the indulgent and pandering commercials leading up to the Annual Fourteenth Day of February, she still wants flowers. Or salted caramels. Or a plate of assorted cheeses. Or a pack of organic bacon. Or a dozen deviled eggs. Mmm...yeah a dozen deviled eggs would have been stellar. (Did I mention that I am on Woman Time?)
Speaking of cheese. We have a new favorite thing here at the Whatevs household: home crafted assortments of delicious hors d'oeuvres, poisony cheeses, crudite, olives, smoked salmon, bread, hummus, nuts, etc. etc. Sometimes accompanied by a glass of wine and enjoyed before dinner. Or during the NFC Championship Game. We call it Snackums. Like, I prepared a couple plates yesterday so that Schmoobs and I could munch on stuff before we went to dinner and when he walked in the door, his first words were "I got you flowers!" and then followed quickly after by "Ooh, SNACKUMS!" And it was so tasty - and I had enough leftovers - that I actually spent the whole day at work just thinking about getting home and making more snackums.
At work this morning:
Ys: "You know what I'm excited about tonight?"
Schmoobs: "What?"
Ys: "More snackums."
Schmoobs: "Snackums!"
Snackums.
The best part is that, if I make the plates look fancy enough, my brain thinks that I can eat all manner of cheesy goodness without becoming poisoned by it thirty minutes later. And, of course, fancy poison is still poison. But it's always worth it.
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