Kellan and I had a deliriously fun weekend at the beach. We spent two days sailing with my family—which was just heaven because SOMETHING WE BOTH LOVE TO DO. I naively waltzed into marriage with visions of sweet Saturday morning Farmers market dates dancing in my head. I mean, who doesn’t love the farmers market? Or the MORNING?! I just knew that Kellan and I would rise with the sun to cheerfully peruse locally grown fruits and veggies.
Probably holding hands, while small woodland creatures sang to us.
Cue Kellan Dickens. You can imagine my utter astonishment when my newly-minted husband was less than thrilled with my 8 AM Farmers Market proposition. My confusion was clearly evidenced by my general conviction that if I simply repeated myself enough times, slowly and with greater enthusiasm, he would surely come on board. I don’t think you understand. I said there is a S-A-T-U-R-D-A-Y Farmers market!
Locally grown peaches!
Meanwhile back at the ranch, my husband was trying to sell me on board games. And between the two of us, I think every marital issue we have can be traced back to one fateful game of Settlers of Catan, at the end of which I would have happily sentenced him to a lifetime of hawking Christmas tree shaped air fresheners at a stand in the mall.
[Let it never be said that I don’t employ a healthy amount of melodrama.]
Mo board games, mo problems.
I blame the Pinterest Wives. Somewhere, a group of truly sadistic women with WAY too much time on their hands are sitting around conspiring ways to make mere mortals like me eat their feelings. They’re the ones making wreaths out of acorns and churning their own butter and coming up with ELEVENTY BILLION ways to wear a scarf. Acorn wreaths? Are you KIDDING me?! I’m the girl chanting “righty-tighty-lefty-loosey” like some sort of deranged lunatic every time she can’t open a pickle jar—acorn wreaths are entirely out of my league.
Those insidious Pinterest Wives all play board games with their husbands every single night after a casual nine course dinner, because they’re perfect like that. And somehow, this imperialist acorn-gluing, scarf-wearing game-playing propaganda finds its way onto the internet where I unsuspectingly come across it whilst desperately trying to channel Houdini and conjure up dinner out of a can of french cut green beans, and the dregs of a bottle of brown mustard. We may not eat enough coq au vin at our house, but we are getting PLENTY of soy lecithin and sodium acid pyrophosphate THANK YOU VERY MUCH.
The Pinterest Wives may love game night, but I just can’t. I CAN’T. In fact, these Pinterest expectations are spiraling so wildly out of control that I’m contemplating creating my own anti-Pinterest website, full of pictures of frozen Tombstone pizzas and me in my yoga pants and a dirty pony tail. We’ll call it THISISMYREALLIFE.COM.
Happily, our weekend at the beach required neither board games nor early morning vegetables. Sailing offered the perfect middle ground, and we soaked up every second of it.
Clearly, the solution here is that we have to move to the beach and buy a sail boat.
You know, for our marriage.