Fat, Mad, and Lazy
2005-05-06, 2:50 p.m.

Hubby is mad.

He has outgrown all his clothes. I bought him several pairs of pants yesterday and a new swimsuit, a fun one with C@ptain Morg@n and his booze screen printed on the side. Hubby tried it on, and the second he quit sucking in his paunch so that he could breathe for a change and let his eyes pull back into their sockets, the Velcro in the new suit went all a-bustin�. Didn�t help matters any that my sister-in-law and I guffawed heartily about it over the phone immediately afterward.

The other day at work, one of Hubby�s coworker/friends commented on his recent weight gain. �Fat ass� was the term, I do believe. It�s not all fat, it�s love handles, several of them precariously perched on his waistband. I told him to tell the guy for me that he�s not fat, he�s ribbed for my pleasure. It�s fun to make Hubby turn twelve shades of red.

Right after the clothing debacle, Hubby had to embark on a heart-pounding, testosterone-eliminating task: I made him take Daughter to the salon to get her hair colored. You would think I asked him to buy tampons. He bought feminine protection for me ONCE, when I had just given birth to Daughter and obviously could not get out of bed, let alone jaunt over to Maul Mart. He stood in the aisle, frozen with fear, totally bamboozled, until a lady asked him if he needed some help. He yelped out that his wife had just had a baby. The lady tossed him the package of the largest things possible, the ones that double as cot mattresses, and somehow he found his way back home in a stupor. I think if I ever asked him to do that again he would just pass out in the aisle. This is the man who can toy with snakes and capture spiders, I never figured he could be incapacitated with the threat of St@yfree.

Anyhoo, he was nearly as horrified at the prospect of hauling his girl, his BABY GIRL, his BABY GIRL WHO IS GROWING UP AND HE CAN�T HANDLE IT to a place swimming in estrogen and hot flashes and foil wraps and posters of people with stiff hair and waaaay too much makeup so she could emerge a happy honey blonde. No ambulance was summoned, he didn�t spontaneously sprout boobs, and he has the whole weekend to recover.

Yes, I let Daughter color her hair. I encouraged it. I get a temporary quietus from the bitching and moaning about how she hates her �dishwater blonde� hair, and if she�s happy with the brighter blonde that should greatly lessen the chances of it suddenly becoming blue or purple or whatever, which I actually wouldn�t mind, but think she shouldn�t embark on THAT until she�s much much older.

Hubby had to summon his courage and fortitude and play Steel M@gnolias because I had a date with a few handsome young men. Our ladies church circle cooked burgers, fries, brownies, and cookies for the teenagers at the Boys� Home. These kids are there for a few months at a time, either between foster homes or if there�s no one to take them when they get out of juvie. They were so parched for motherly attention, for an adult to care, they were so well-mannered and sweet and showed off every. Single. Thing. They. Owned. which wasn�t much, but they were proud, anyway. They told us how they ended up there, of parents who abandoned them or beat them or simply didn�t care, of how when they turned 18 they were going home anyway to protect and care for the same parents who tossed them out like bits of refuse. How they were going to grow up to be cops and scientists and good citizens and look out for one another. They didn�t see how we died a little with every story they told. How can a parent be so monstrous as to do those things to a child? Soulless bastards, bastards all.

This week I broke down and rented �Sleepy H0llow�, a movie which I�ve wanted to see for years. I�m good at putting off seeing movies for a decade at a time. On top of things, that�s me. I watched it twice in a row. I downloaded most of the soundtrack. It is one of the most beautiful movies I�ve ever seen and is cementing my mini-shrine to Tim Burt0n. The man is a twisted genius, and I have a soft spot for twisted geniuses. Go me. I have listened to the soundtrack 18.7 million times now and am putting a plaque on the shrine in honor of D@nny Elfm@n.

I have to pick up Son from school in 10 minutes and I am still in my jammies. Been scrubbing the bathrooms and all that and was too darn lazy to change, but showing up at school in jammies would not be appreciated. Time to throw on something equally grimy and extract my child from the clutches of academia. Hope everyone has a marvelous weekend!

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