Our six-year anniversary is on Saturday, so naturally I've been reveling in memories. The first couple of anniversaries are sweet affairs, but after year five, you start to reminisce about the good ole days: Way back when your husband tried to hold his farts 90% of the time, or those early arguments over silly things like clothes shrunk in the laundry or a badly botched attempt at a homemade dinner. Noah and I aren't generally the arguing type, but there have been a few hot-button issues in our relationship.
When we were first married, I once stomped into the living room of our apartment—which wasn't, unfortunately, very effective, since our apartment was 500 square feet and stomping from one point to another required a good stutter step to make it count for anything—anyway, I stomped the four steps from our bedroom to the living room holding a handful of candy wrappers I'd just collected and told him I refused to spend the rest of our lives picking up his trash.
So far, I've spent six years picking up his trash. Only now (since he's been on A Health Regimen) it's the cellophane from popcorn bags and scraps of paper from the pockets of his uniform I gather into little piles of bitterness.
When we were first married, however, there was more generosity between the two of us. Particularly in the bedroom. Ew you guys, don't be so gross. I'm talking about making the bed. Pervs.
Since about two years into this little domestic experiment of ours, every time we change our bed sheets there's been an argument. Now in most cases Noah will admit that my perception of spacial relationships is superior (the C in sophomore year geometry notwithstanding); I can pack a suitcase or a hatchback car with startling aplomb. But he refuses to submit when it comes to how much of the top sheet is hanging over on his side: a luxurious amount, always, as compared to the two inches of wiggle room he allows me. I would let this go if I was the bed hog who always stole the covers during the night. As is the case, I am not the bed hog who always steals the covers during the night. On many occasions only Cody's massive fur coat at the foot of the bed has kept me going until morning.
Recently our arguments have turned to more serious matters, such as the true cause of Houdini's demise. Just last night, we stormed into the office to consult Wikipedia regarding the truth behind Harry Houdini's unfortunate death. (I said he suffocated; Noah claimed it was a sucker punch to the stomach by a professional boxer. Wikipedia reported appendicitis. Case closed.)
And then there's the Brooke Shields–Latisse ad campaign. This particular issue proved such a stumbling block we uncharacteristically had to drop the discussion before resolving the matter. Noah, you see, came across a Latisse ad featuring the multitalented Ms. Shields in one of our magazines and dismissed the ophthalmic solution as an indulgence on par with Botoxing one's lips to thrice the size of normal.
I took issue with his flippancy. (A thorn in the side of my case: The makers of Latisse are also the makers of Botox.) Certainly, I wouldn't call Brooke's before photos an embarrassing display of "inadequate or not enough lashes," but I could see the potential merits of Latisse. When Noah claimed that women would use Latisse "to impress men, and men don't pay attention to that kind of thing anyway," I nearly hit the roof.
This argument took place months ago, and it wasn't until this past week that his own mother proved me right. After receiving the wonderful news that several months of chemotherapy treatments have forced her cancer into full remission, my mother-in-law began using Latisse to help regrow her eyelashes. And the fact that I secretly wish I had a bottle of that magical little eyelash enhancer for reasons of vanity? Totally irrelevant.
In conclusion, as long as Brooke Shields doesn't front any other cosmetic endeavors, Noah and I should be good for another six years. At least.
Congrats on six years of totally healthy bickering! I can say this as someone who recognizes half of these fights and considers my marriage to be the best in existence. Seriously.
It amazes me how many marital spats revolve around bedclothes, body temperature, and other sleeping-related matters.
love it! and my friends that have completed their chemo all swear by latisse - they say it really works
I'm pretty sure our silliest fight occurred over the RIGHT way to put the bread back into its sleeve. Me = Twist the end of the bag and fold it back. Nathan = use the twist tie.
Glad we're not the only ones!
Part of me thinks Latisse would be cool (of course, the side effects are pretty scary), but the other part thinks that a lack of lashes is a pretty lame excuse for a medical condition. After all, if you were already pretty attractive, big lashes wouldn't make a huge difference and if you weren't, would they either?
Ha, happy anniversary. We are on 13 or is it 14? Perhaps, I should get that straight as our anniversary is this month as well.
And arguments--we have had a few, but I don't remember what they were about.
See what you all have to look forward to?
First, it is GREAT to hear about your MIL's full remission!
Second, my first wedding anniversary is in about a week and your post reminds me of our first fight in our new home. Let me paint a picture for you:
We are in our new home. All that is in the living room are two folding lawn chairs, a TV, and a pillow shaped like a fish. We are about to watch Alpha Dog. Josh (my husband) decides to make Jochos (his own brand of nachos). He brings the cookie sheet they were broiling on out of the oven and places it directly on our new, creamy white carpet. I. Went. To. Crazytown. He refused to eat off a plate as this would "make the heat leave the Jochos faster." At the thought of my carpet melting I stormed off. "What about the movie?" he shouts. I say, "I will sooner poop on that movie than watch it with you!" He still asks me if I want to watch it. I'm a woman of my word.
On that note, happy 6th anniversary! LOL
If I could use my words as well as you do, this is pretty much what I would want to say on the eve of my next anniversary. Love it. Happy 6th you lovebirds!
Sal—Well, we do spend a third of our lives in bed.
CoffeeJitters—If Latisse has taught me one thing, it's that there's probably a great, legit purpose for almost any seemingly silly medication out there. For a woman who's gone through chemo, having no eyelashes is a big dang deal.
LWH—There is nothing more irritating than going to the breadbox all hungry-bear-like and finding the bread bag incorrectly folded.
Sadako—I never gave much thought to my lashes until recently. I always had pretty full, dark lashes. Perhaps my medical condition is "ridiculous vanity;" I'll bet Latisse would treat that one perfectly.
Slam—I'm worse than you are. I have to do math to remember how old I am.
Olivia—This sounds exactly like the sort of thing that would happen in our household. Including the part about me pooing on the movie. But I have to know...what exactly goes into the making of a Jocho?
Mrs. Fuzz—I think you're just fine about using your words ;) But thanks!
My knowledge on Houdini is fuzzy (by "fuzzy", I mean I watched a movie about him one time and my dad talked about him briefly about 7 years ago), but as far as I remember, he died when an audience volunteer punched him in the stomach before he (Houdini) had prepared himself, and the punch ruptured his appendix.
Again though, I am by no means a Houdini expert. A Houdexpert, if you will.
In order to avoid the arguments with my husband who wraps himself like a mummy up in the bedclothes THEN moves over to my half, leaving me cold with extremities exposed and hanging off the edge of the bed (this was real fun when I was hugely pregnant with our second), I buy top sheets, blankets, and comforters in the next size. We have a queen, but only the bottom sheet is queen sized; everything else is king-sized. Problem solved.
Latisse is very good and it helps to regrow eyelashes and look beautiful like before!
WILL LATISSE WORK ON GROWING EYEBROWS??
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