7.14.10

Dear Husband,

When we sat in the drug lord’s house this weekend (aka the couples shower) and you slowly looked around the room, then at me, and said, “We need to have a discussion”, I was excited to know what your brain was brewing.  Then you listed things about the blue-hairs in the room that you did not want me to wear/be/turn into.  But ya know, I’m not the one who spilled a whole fajita on my pants, so maybe we should start with you not gumming your food.

Thank you for driving me to San Antonio while I slept and recovered from my 10 mile run.  Thank you for driving me back from San Antonio while I slept and recovered from a migraine.  Hopefully we can get those figured out soon.  I’m pretty much over having one every weekend.  You’re a trooper for dealing with me.

One more thing.  Last night, in your sleep, you said the following:

“Maybe it’s like Michael Jackson [20 second pause during which I made sure to sit up to be fully awake for the rest of this] eh it’s better the 2nd time around”

I would pay a large lump sum to be able to know what it is you were doing and who the heck you were with in your head last night.  For now, I’ll pray because there is a lot about that sentence that worries me.

Make Way,

Wife.

P.S.  Dear Devin’s friend Dan and his wife Callie, thank you for letting me sleep on your couch for eleventy billion hours and for not judging me for doing so.  You rule.