-10:00 we go to the gym to lift. I spot him, I help by making iron-pumping noises (cushhhhhhhhh!). He does the same for me. We go to the tricep dip machine. He can do it without assistance. I try to do the same and fail miserably. He says that he used to lift with an Indian named Sandeep. I picture him doing tricep dips with a tiny Indian guy hanging from his waist. I laugh so hard I fall off the machine. He helps me up and explains that Sandeep was actually a big Indian. An “American Indian” he calls it. I picture a warrior wearing a headdress hanging from his waist. He says “stop picturing a warrior, I didn’t mean Native American.” I am astonished by his intuition. I am still picturing the warrior, who is at this point doing the hand-on-mouth whooping noise. I again laugh so hard I fall off the machine. We go home.
-12:00 we eat lunch and watch the Daily Show. I begin to get very, very upset about how much I despise Sarah Palin, and then become very upset that I know my family will vote fascist based solely on tradition and misguided loyalty to the military (which Chris assures me has been worse off during the Bush administration than under any liberal). I am crying. We engage in a religio-political conversation for two hours. It is intelligent and open-minded, and I think about how nice it is to be marrying someone intelligent enough to not only argue with me, but also to change my mind. I promise him I will not berate my family for their beliefs. I still hate Sarah Palin.
-3:00 we go to Barnes and Noble Starbucks so Chris can study and I can mentally jerk off over different cookbooks. I bring back a pile to see Chris staring into space. He tells me he wants a tractor. A red one, because he could ride it and drink beer which would make him hate mowing the lawn less. I tell him to focus on his allergy book. A minute later I look up and he’s again staring off into space. This time he’s thinking about how a tractor would fare in a robot takeover. We agree that by the time this happens, he will likely be hitting them with his cane telling them to stay off his lawn. He seems mollified. Two minutes later I look up and he’s again staring at the blank wall. This time he’s thinking of Halo strategies. I help him, because it’s important. We then spend 20 minutes quietly making fun of the San Antonians who are making caloric choices that are DEFINITELY not quite right, if you get my drift. Chris tells me about his fantasy where a giant blob of acid heads toward humanity at a reasonable pace, and only those fast enough to run are safe from it. I ask him about all the stupid or evil thin people who would make it. He tells me about the opposing cloud of concentrated methamphetamines that will take out the evil thin people who flock to it. This is a valid point. He has studied nothing. I look at the Martha Stewart Wedding Cakes book, and Chris helpfully comments on each one. “That one looks like they just glued tissues on it.” (response to a fluffed icing one) “That one has BEES on it!” (it had bees on it) “That ones got cigarettes all over it.” (response to one with white chocolate curls on it) and my personal favorite, in reference to the one I really like that has candy sticks of different pastel colors all tied around the side with a big ribbon “How come that cake is covered in tampons?” Priceless. Now I cannot use the candy stick design. We go home, having studied nothing.
5:30-Dinnertime looms and I have done nothing about it. I go into the kitchen to start looting. I find a box of frozen egg rolls. I become very excited because I had forgotten about them and our house is usually totally devoid of processed foods. This is a remnant from the week that I was so upset about Russia that I listlessly wandered around Central Market buying only pre-made food so I would take a weekend off of baking. You all saw how well that went. Chris comes in and offers to help. I decide that we can do a “tapas” night of small dishes. He’s had two or three of the Mike’s Hard Lemonades at this point, and is feeling creative, so I tell him he can invent his own dish. He immediately becomes animated and starts pulling things out of cupboards at an alarming pace. I mindlessly go about preparing the things I have decided on. I look up, and he is making miniature breakfast sausage corndogs. I am suspicious, but impressed. I think he just wanted to use the deep fryer. Turns out, and I am not in any way being falsely complimentary on this, his corndogs rocked the casbah. Dipped in maple syrup they tasted FANTASTIC. This is the first time he’s ever cooked for me, and I’m in awe. I will likely abuse this in the future, though I find it almost impossible not to meddle and offer advice in the kitchen.
So our dinner was as follows: Awesome breakfast corndogs on skewers dipped in maple syrup, pretzel nuggets with spicy sweet mustard, grapes, bacon wrapped dates in garlic butter (a favorite of mine that I stole from The Med in Boulder, CO) smoked gouda on crackers, and egg rolls with sweet chili sauce. We eat while we play Halo for the rest of the night. I go to bed thinking about what a lucky girl I am to have so many nights that feel just like a grade school sleepover, only with the possibility of getting my sleepover pal naked without feeling weird about it…
Also, how the hell does he know what a tampon looks like? I have completely shielded him from this type of knowledge, hoping to preserve his boyish innocence on the workings of the female reproductive system (he managed to play hookie for the entirety of his ob-gyn rotation, and I am not kidding about that). I’ve had to use an elaborate system of combination locks, secret passageways, and pulleys to keep him from ever seeing such a thing. He must have seen it on t.v. I do wish they’d be more careful with their programming. It’s a wonder that more men don’t go through life thinking that a period is actually blue, given the nature of the absorbency tests.
I took a lot of pictures of him holding up his corndogs and smiling, but the cutest picture ended up being the one he didn’t know I took. That adoring gaze of “I MADE you and I love you” that I imagine he’ll someday bestow on our offspring. Possibly after dipping them in maple syrup.