Sunday, August 22, 2010

Know your limits.

Being a wife can be kind of tough. I have a wonderful l husband who makes me laugh every single day, but sometimes….sometimes he does things that I cannot for the life of me understand. One of those things happens to be leaving dishes in the sink (he has to be allergic) while another is finding, shall I use the term "unique" in lieu of an expletive, places to put everyday items so I can not find them and become increasingly frustrated as the seconds tick by. He's a tidy fellow but will go on these beserk cleaning sprees and once threw out an entire bag of flour in the kitchen for really no good reason other than I think he had whipped himself up into a cleaning frenzy and was intoxicated by the scent of Lysol wipes and Pledge.

However the thing that really really gets me is how he refuses to believe he has limitations. I've already told you about the bike shorts (I shudder to think of the image) but now let me finish that little piece up with the follow up story.

Yesterday, I had a date with myself. I went and got some breakfast and a huge coffee; I went to Nordstroms (I really do love that place); I went to the Trainer (I do NOT love that place but alas I was not blessed with some weird Swedish Bathing Suit model genes so there I must be); and then I went and saw Eat, Pray, Love by myself. I thoroughly enjoyed the movie but I'm not sure the lady next to me did. She was literally snoring halfway through it. It was a fantastic day and I left the movie thinking I would go grab another coffee and head to the Barnes & Noble where I could browse the books for an hour or so and then go home to watch a DVD set of "Frasier" (do not ask, I love that show and I'm not ashamed to admit it. I also LOVE the show Reba. Van cracks me up). Well on my way out of the movie, I felt my phone vibrating and assumed it was my sister or someone calling me. My beloved wasn't set to come home until today so I knew it couldn't be him.


"It's me."

I couldn't be sure but it sounded like my husband but a much more defeated version of his normally chipper self.

"Hey! How'd the race go??"

"I can't talk. I just need you to come home and bring me pedialyte."

Great. So there went my beautiful Saturday evening. Pedialyte is never a good sign. It either means you've had food poisoning, alcohol poisoning, or you've done something absolutely ridiculous like try to ride 50 miles in the sweltering Georgia heat.

"Ok. Be there in a sec"

I stopped by the local Walgreens, got the Pedialyte and headed home. Now as I've mentioned before, my husband is an extremely tidy person. So when I drove up to our apartment and saw the mound of crap that sat outside our door and my mind flashed back to him saying one time "I don't care if we are dirt poor, we are not going to have a bunch of trash sitting outside of our house", I knew this was bad.

I walked inside and there he was. Lying on the floor, a shell of a man. I got down on the floor next to him and asked him what happened. I won't bore you with the details but needless to say it involved a deluge of rain pouring down on him, a race he wasn't trained for and brakes that completely gave up on him. He feel asleep at 8 last night and didn't wake up until 10 this morning. We had a long talk about limitations and it has now been agreed that he will only sign up for these races when he's trained for them. I'm not sure I can take many more surprises that involve bike shorts.


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