on our way home from Panama City Beach the summer after he graduated high-school
I read a funny post earlier in the week where the blogger asked her husband for a list of funny / random / unknown facts about her. It kind of made me snort laugh. Not really because of what he said about her, but because I could only imagine what my husband might say about me. I emailed him at work and asked him to compile a list for me. That was my only instruction. I didn’t give him any direction about what I wanted, how many or how long they should be or even what topics were off limits. Here is what he had to say (with my commentary, of course):
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She wants everything to be divisible by the number five. I think we’ve discussed this before, but let me enlighten you just in case. I have a thing with numbers. I count things. A lot. Even when I don’t realize I’m doing it. Josh catches me tapping my fingers in church (I’m usually counting light fixtures or words on the screen). I remember people’s names because of the number of letters in them (I knew how to spell the name of Notre Dame’s football coach during the BCS championship game last year because at some point I filed away that both his first and last names had five letters). I don’t know why 5 is “my number”, but I like it when things are in increments of five. My mother finds it ironic that my children’s names have four and six letters in them and let me tell you that I should have done something about that! And yes, in case you’re wondering, it has been pointed out that counting is a sign of mental illness. And no, I do not count my steps when I’m running. That is probably the only time of day when I’m not subconsciously counting something.
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She moves her feet constantly while in bed. Again, he’s trying to make me look like a crazy person. I don’t know why, but my feet move and twitch. I think I probably have restless leg syndrome since the skin on my calves crawls constantly, but I’m not entirely sure these things are related. I only do it at night after I lay down and it’s worse on days when I run. Sometimes I don’t realize I’m doing it until I find him staring at me. I know what that look means.
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She refuses to sing high notes, she’ll just lip sync. This is true, but I’m not sure I realized anybody noticed this about me. High notes make me nervous, even if I can hit them. That’s why I sing alto in the choir!
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She will not clean the toilet. Also true. I don’t care how bad it gets or if the bathroom smells. I don’t do toilets that have been used by a boy. If it gets really desperate and he’s not in town, I might swish some Pine Sol around with a toilet brush, but my hands aren’t coming anywhere near that. In my defense, I made that perfectly clear before he said “I do.”
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She hates folding clothes. Hate isn’t a strong enough word. I put it off for six days and then fold loads that number into the double-digits before starting the process all over again. Even after they are finally folded, they sit around in a laundry basket for another week. I don’t know why I hate it so much, but if I could I’d hire someone exclusively to do laundry, I would.
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She is obsessed with running. I think this has been established. I like to run. I like to read what other’s write about running. I like to talk to other people about how they ran. I like to buy running clothes even though I have too many. I have subscriptions to multiple running magazines. I might never be a “great” runner, but that doesn’t mean I won’t store up massive amounts of information about the sport. I stayed home sick on Monday and then realized that it meant I could watch the Boston Marathon live from bed all morning. I made a pot of coffee and didn’t move for four hours. I think Josh got bored with my constant commentary on the elite runners and who I wanted to win. I got mad when he left the room or answered the phone, even though he was clearly trying to work. I was a little ridic.
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She talks at an insanely high volume. This is apparent if you’ve ever met me in person. I’m a yeller. I’m on the “loud hall” at work and the nice people say “her voice carries.” I can’t help it. It’s loud and there isn’t anything I can do about it. I don’t have an inside voice. I’m not at all timid. He gets mad when I raise my voice too close to his ear and I am constantly hearing “Why are you yelling?” come out of his mouth mid-conversation.
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She hates silence. This is true. It’s uncomfortable and I start talking about random subjects to fill the space It’s quirky and Josh always gets a funny look on his face when he realizes I’m doing it. I think he purposefully stops talking at dinner to see what random thing I’ll say next. We have been together for 17 years and we spend a lot of time together. The things I don’t say out loud, he’s read on the blog. He knows everything there is to know about me. If we go to dinner alone, we might not have much to say to one another after the first few minutes. It gets quiet and I start saying things that don’t make sense or that he couldn’t care less about.
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She keeps her food separated on her plate. She can’t have it touch other food and “infiltrate”. YES. I do not want gravy on my chicken or corn juice in my macaroni and cheese. WHY do people put eggs and biscuit and jelly in their mouth at the same time?! I don’t understand that. I avoid soup and casseroles because that is just too many things in one bowl. I seriously need to invest in a divided cafeteria tray for dinner. The only exception is Chicken Bryan at Carrabba’s. That is some seriously good stuff and it would be a crime not to let that sauce get mixed up with my mashed potatoes.
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She makes the best chicken salad known to man. I knew he liked it, but I’m a little flattered. I love chicken salad and I order it everywhere. I’ve tried a billion recipes and have finally come up with one that I love. I don’t even make it the same way every time, but it’s always good and everyone in my house devours it. I think maybe I should make some this weekend.
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She still owns Doc Martens. I went through a serious grunge / hippy chic phase in middle and high school. If you know me now, you might find that hard to believe, but it’s true. I bought most of my clothes at the thrift store and my backpack was covered in anti-war and band patches. I bought my Doc Martens the day after Thanksgiving of my freshman year of high-school. They cost more than $100 and my parents were not happy. They wouldn’t buy them, so I squirreled away my birthday money and bought them myself. I wore them every day, whether I wore jeans, shorts or a frilly dress. I loved them and couldn’t part with them. In fact, I replaced the laces last month and wore them to church with leggings and a sweater. They are still just as cool as they were 19 years ago!
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She has nothing to wear even though the closet is overflowing. I think this is an accepted fact of womanhood. You don’t find that weird at all, do you? He swears that I never where the first thing I try on. The #pinstyle13 challenge has been good for me, since I pretty much have to commit to an outfit the day before.
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She gives the best back rubs. He better say that – that man gets more rub downs than any other human being on the planet. His go-to line is “But it’s my love language!!” This only comes in handy because my love language is receiving gifts. Ha! I do make a point of rubbing on him at night in bed when I’m reading. I read every night and he won’t pester me if I pay him some attention while I’m doing it. The month of February I tried to make a conscious effort to rub him every time he asked me to. It was a challenge, but it didn’t go unnoticed.
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She loves the beach, but not the ocean. True. I love everything about the beach. I wish the sand didn’t stick to you, but I can deal. I love the smell and the sound and I don’t even mind the heat. I don’t care if I get sunburned and I could stay there for 12 hours without complaining. I don’t care if we sight-see or play miniature golf or go shopping (okay, maybe I care about that one), I want to spend as much time as possible with my feet in the sand. I don’t do swimming pools at the beach, we have one of those at home. BUT, I could do without the ocean. It’s pretty to look at and it keeps the kids occupied while I sunbathe, but I hate how sticky I feel after I get out and I hate it when the water gets in my mouth and I don’t like not knowing what is swimming around my feet. I made it a priority last year to get in the water as often as possible with Josh and the girls and I did have a great time. I’m trying, but it isn’t my favorite!
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She has a cracked thumbnail that will never heal. This made me laugh. My left thumbnail has a crack down the middle from top to bottom. It only splits at the top, but you can see the line all the way down to my cuticle. I don’t remember how I did it and I’m not sure how long it’s been that way. Even if I cut it off short, below the split, it splits when it grows out. I can camouflage it with nail polish, but as soon as it grows out, the polish starts to chip again. I hate it, but there doesn’t seem to be anything I can do to make it go away!
Well, that was embarrassing.I must say (because I know he’ll mention it if I don’t) that I reworded a few of these. An interesting fact about Josh is that he never types complete sentences, he rarely uses punctuation and sometimes he misspells words or uses the wrong word on purpose just to get on my nerves. He is super smart, but enjoys making himself look like an idiot to see if anyone will notice or comment. Facebook is the worst. I couldn’t bring myself to post his facts as incomplete sentences, but I promise I didn’t edit any content. I guess that is just one more weird thing we can add to the list.
Wanna share anything weird about yourself?
