Well that time has arrived again, middle child, the “young adult” has moved out. She has secured herself full-time employment in another city approximately forty-five minutes away. Her new job is with the same company her older sister works at, so naturally the older sister (and her boyfriend) offered her a room in their home. Before the younger sister could officially move in, the older sister had to come up with a rental agreement for the younger sister to sign. Here is the “Residential Tenancy Agreement” middle child signed:
A couple of weeks ago I received a magazine in the mail, and on the front cover was a lovely image of a model’s face. The only problem was she was wearing a bright red lipstick. Now I love the true colour of red, I should, I’m a redhead, but when it comes to red lipstick, I absolutely abhor it. Generally I do not like lipstick, I don’t enjoy the feel of it, or the fact lipstick never, ever says on, and the worst is the impression it tends to leave on glassware when you are having a drink!
So when I saw this model wearing red lipstick, it once again led to one of the many conversations I have with my husband, as to why I don’t like this or that, and why he doesn’t either. His response about the lipstick was ‘it’s like you are wearing a vagina on your face, and something to the effect that he prefers a vagina to be down there’. Gross, right? Yep. I must say though, I did burst out laughing when he said this, only because, well the visualization.
Jokingly I said I was going to Tweet his comment, and of course (knowing my husband so well) he said, go ahead. So I did, but I made one huge mistake, I used the word hate. Hubby did not say hate when he told me the reason why he doesn’t like red lipstick. The first person who responded to me, said that’s pretty hateful, whereas the second “gahh, I will never look at red lipstick the same way, ugh” with added laughter. Well the conversation with the first person went from bad to worse in no time. There was no way I was able to convince her that my husband was not being hateful. Whereas the conversation with the second person was full of laughter.
Moral of this story: “use chapstick”
Friday evening started with our middle daughter having a few friends over from her university days, to begin a weekend of partying, saying goodbye, and good luck. Middle child was moving to Seoul, South Korea for a year to teach ESL (English as a Second Language).
Now this was not the first time middle child has had friends over for the weekend, our house is the gathering point for pre-drinking. This time though, hubby and I would be joining the party. As the young ladies prepared their make-up, slipped on their fancy outfits, poured their pre-drinks, hubby and I ate pizza prepared and served by middle child’s best friend. Next car pools, and designated drivers were arranged, and off we went to the Ping Pong Bar and Lounge (another of middle child’s best friends had booked one of the game rooms for a night.).
Though many tears flowed, the evening was a success. Hubby and I our made our way back home, while the girls went off to a house party. Sooner or later, they would arrive back at the house, and crash.
Sometime during the middle of the night, I awoke to check which girls had made it safely back to the house. Two were in middle child’s bed, our niece was in the young man’s room, the young man was in my sewing room. Middle child had not yet arrived home. I was not worried, she is twenty-three, and moving across the world. I went back to bed.
As my wife slept soundly by my side, she climbed into our bed. Young, beautiful, nubile, every man’s dream was happening to me. Slowly I rose…..out of our bed, tucked the young woman in bedside my sleeping wife, and went downstairs to sleep on the couch. The dream was not a dream, and as much as I may have wanted to act upon this threesome, I could not.
I awoke with a start! The young woman awoke with a start! WTF? Where was my husband, and how did she get into our bed? She had no idea. Oh the poor girl, embarrassed beyond belief, apologizing over and over again, that finally I told her to shut up! No harm or funny business had come to any of us, it was no big deal. The poor girl went back to middle child’s room, well I went off to find my husband, to ask what the hell had happened during the night? As he related the story of her climbing into our bed, all we could do was laugh, having had too much to drink, she had slept-walked.
As others awoke in the house, and a phone call to middle child, the poor girl hid in the bedroom too embarrassed to come out. I went upstairs, and spoke to her again. We were not upset in the least, if anything, it now gave me material for a blog post (I promised no names), and she would have to live with some fun teasing, as I asked her would she tell her mom?