This morning, I ran 7 miles.
Did you catch that?
Did you catch that?
If I could, I would write Seven in swirly pink glittery sparkle letters in a cute font. But I can't.
So pretend, okay?
This is momentous because:
1) This is the furthest I have ever run in my ENTIRE life. And I'm 35 years old.
2) Seven miles is MORE THAN half of a half-marathon. Hot damn!
* * * * * *
On a completely different note, does any this conversation sound familiar in your marriage?
The Mister: "My friend A is going to call this evening between 7:30 and 9 p.m. with his calendar so we can coordinate our camping schedules. I'll give you the phone and you and he can discuss.
Me: "He's your friend. You have a calendar. And you are not going to drag me away from True Blood, no way, no how. Why do I have to figure this out?"
The Mister: "Okay. I'll just call him earlier and you two can figure this out."
Me: "Do I have you call my friends to arrange park play dates? Do you plan cookouts with my mom? Do I turn to you to plan the entire weekend, both in town and out of town, when my blogging idol is coming to town to run a half marathon with us Green Bay gals? No."
The Mister: "That's because you are the better planner than me. You rock at it, baby."
Me: Snorting. "Flattery will get you know where, Mister. Out of the next 5 weekends, we have 2 available to camp. They are on your calendar. And these are your friends. Just write your plans on the Motherboard on the wall, once you make them. "
The Mister: "The Motherboard? Where's that? Is it really that much to ask you to plan this?"
Me: "Unless at this very moment you are a Viking vampire who can levitate outside my bedroom window, yes, it is too much to ask."
Forehead slap. And you know that when the Mister got on the phone with his friend, he asked me a dozen questions, all of which he could have figured out had he looked at the 2 weekends marked OPEN on his calendar.
But truly, who the hell cares, because today I ran over half of a half marathon. And tonight I got to watch a Viking vampire levitate. So it's been a great day regardless of the Mister's complete inability to read a calendar.
(I hope you realize, Mister, that this was done all in the name of good blogging fodder. Love you, babe!)