"What are you looking for?" my coworker asked.
"I lost my lunch," I said and laughed. "I mean, I brought my lunch and I cannot literally cannot find it."
After amusing myself for half the day with this tidbit, I came home to find that I did not bring my lunch to work in a paper bag, like I believed I had. Behold! Sitting on the fireplace, just feet from the door, is the bag I swear I put my lunch in (which did not need to be refrigerated) and carried from my car into my office. But my lunch is not in it. Where is my lunch? I told my wonderful husband the story and he said, "There is your lunch, in the recycling bin."
Do you see it? Inside the top white bin is a box of peanuts. It is empty. Or is it? Not empty. There is my bread (which I was craving yesterday) and an apple that I have been trying to eat for more than a week. You know what? Today I wanted that damn apple.
So the next amusing tale comes from the kitchen sink (yup, this blog officially has everything). My husband is fantastic. He does all the cooking. Always has. When I ask him if he needs help with dinner, or any meal, he says, "With what?" It is not really my job to do dishes, but if my husband says I can help him by relaxing, I can suck it up and wash dishes, which I am not fond of doing. Until yesterday. If you look at the picture, you will see the left side of the sink is bigger than the right and the faucet is off-center and behind the right side of the sink. I have never found it to be easy to wash dishes, but when your tummy dictates how close you are allowed to stand to the sink, causing you to have to bend over, it changes the game. Although today I will admit that I figured out the trick of lifting my tummy and letting it sit on top of the counter. It makes me giggle and I feel silly, but in the three or so years I have lived with my husband, he has never really asked me to do anything in the kitchen, so I will continue the belly lifts and wash as many dishes as my back can handle. I will also add Matt frequently has dinner on the table when I get home or he says, "Dinner will be ready in five minutes." Yes, I do appreciate him and thank him every night for cooking me/us a delicious dinner.
I attempted to make this a dual purpose photo to include a belly shot, but my top is not cooperating. What I am instead showing you is my haircut. I just got it done and several of my coworkers complimented me on it today. "Do you want to know a secret?" I whispered. They came close and I said, "My husband cut it." I told them with my hair growing so fast I wanted something of a trim before spending a bit more money at my stylist, which I hope she forgives me for doing. I plan on seeing her in mid-July to get a hair cut as well as a color, which includes highlights. It's not a cheap visit, but stylists do not have things like sick time or insurance and have to pay rent for the chair and space they use, not to mention their license and any continuing education that may be required by the state of Indiana. So really, the price you pay per hour to sit in a stylists chair is a good deal. I'm cheap and can't always justify a hair cut as often as I would like. After hearing my husband complain enough about the cost of a hair cut at Great Clips, he became brave and let me cut his hair.
"It takes you so long to cut my hair," he says when he looks shaggy and appears to be due for a cut. Yes, it does take longer when a non-trained professional cuts your hair, worries about screwing up, and does not have proper scissors. I do okay. I think. He has yet to shave his head to fix any cut I have given him. So in this case, my husband saved us some cash and I hate to say it, but I may have it do it again sometime, but only after taking a gander at an instructional online video.
So there you go. A lost lunch, the kitchen sink, and a home done haircut.
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