Count Your Blessings...

There is a tiny little Asian man making a spectacle of himself.

And It appears to be very deliberate.

Unfortunately, I am positive that he is not getting the effect he was going for.

He wants attention, that much is clear.

I am tempted to ask if 'Yuck' is what he's aiming for.

Three thoughts come to mind as I watch and observe this schmuck (I rarely use this word, but pleasantly surprised and amused with the opportunity this little man has afforded me to use this silly word):

1. Yuck.
2. I'm so glad I'm married to David and he's not a big dork.
3. Where do all the freaks go at night?

He's wearing a slightly tight firetruck red Marlboro Man Cowboy shirt that reads "Wild West Country". Frankly, at 4'9" with a funny crew cut and big mouth (metaphorically speaking), cowboy is the last thing I would associate him with. Maybe a jackass?

His eyes follow the backside of every female that rushes by in the lunch room and when a particularly attractive one happens by he raises his voice and talks about how much muscle mass he is putting on at 145. Do you think he means pounds? The numerical value he refers to puzzles and confuses me.

I'm beginning to feel anxious at the sight of him. A multitude of feelings are starting to overwhelm me: Yuck. It's painful to watch him. He is starting to make me feel embarrassed to be a fellow Asian. Is the good, right and honorable thing to do to give him advice? What would David do? What would the good Samaritan do? I'm so glad that I'm married and David's not a dork. Is Gina ok? I hope she doesn't have to deal with too many schmucks. He definitely is not 145lbs...maybe 125-130?

I find this to be the perfect opportunity to sing praises about my lovely husband. For some strange reason the sight of this creature fills me with a sense of tremendous relief and gratitude for my dear husband.

Dear David,

I'm thankful that you're tall and handsome and socially presentable.
I'm thankful that you don't don't wear Marlboro Man t-shirts.
I'm thankful that you're not underweight.
I'm thankful that you're gentle spirited and not some gregarious little troll-like creature.
Thank you for being dignified. I never feel embarrassed when I'm with you.
And if I were a man, and you a woman, I'd wear you on my arm like a trophy-wife everywhere we go.

Love Always,
Thankful Wife.

Monkey See, Monkey Do.

Noah has a tendency to wake up around 4:30/5:00 am in the morning looking for a bottle. For a while I tried to wean him from this feeding...but given that he is a little underweight we haven't pushed it too much and continue to give him a bottle in the early morning.

Now, usually David is already up around this time and watching the market, so when Noah is up and shoving his Nuby Sippy Cup in my face I usually call out for my hero: "DAVID...DAVID! We need a bottle!"

Then a bottle magically appears and Noah falls back asleep and I no longer have Noah sitting atop my chest with a bottle to my face like a mugger on the streets of New York.

Well...Monkey See. Monkey Do.

Noah has eliminated the middle man and has gone straight to the source. Now in the mornings he calls out into the dark for his Hero. His Deliverer. His Milkman..."DAY-MID! DAY-MID!"

First time he did it, it just cracked me up. Now, it's become a bit of an issue and sometimes David has to re-educate the little man and tell him to call him "Dada".

How much information is too much information?

So, David hasn't mentioned anything yet...but he hasn't checked the blog recently. I was thinking to myself...David, being the very proper and dignified human being that he is, will not appreciate my use of his name and 'toilet plunger' in the same sentence.

And it got me thinking...how much information is too much information. I tried to put myself in his shoe, but frankly I have never been very successful at this exercise in empathetic transference. Certain infractions never seem as bad when I am the perpetrator.

So, Dear Reader, I seek your guidance in this ethical dilemma.

~*~