Anyway, how does it work so beautifully for us, you ask? (I listen when people are bringing up good topics.) A good and lasting and strong marriage works like this:
My Own Momma brought The Daughters back home after keeping them so The Dad and I could go cry in a movie theater for two and a half hours watching Hunger Games. (OK - it was just The Dad who cried.) When they (The Daughters, not the tributes) burst through the door, my nose perked up like a coon hound catching the trail of his much-sought-after shifty little night creature. I smelled gravy.
"Where ya been?" I asked, still sniffing and already knowing the answer.
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| I can't believe I ate the whole thing. |
Let me explain this culinary miracle. Murphys takes a piece of toasted bread and places a greasy slab of hamburger on top of the toast. Then they bury it in grease-infused fries and dump a gallon of brown gravy on top of that. I usually ask them to hold the bread because I am kinda, sorta a health nut. It is nothing short of heaven from the time it passes over your tongue and down your throat until you burp it back up again. I'm addicted.
However, the fact was this: I was not hungry. The Dad and I had already eaten, and my belly was full. It was so full, in fact, that I had a belly ache. And after we got The Daughters in bed, I complained to my beloved.
"My belly hurts."
"Are you getting sick?" he asked with great concern in his voice as he moved closer to the open window so as to not let any germs fly his way.
"No," I reassured the big baby, "I'm just gassy. I'm sure if I could fart, I'd feel so much better."
This, my friends, is just one of the many ways our marriage stays strong: Honest and open communication. We have no fear in using the word fart with each other.
"I'm sure it doesn't help that I've got Murphy's Hot Hamburger with Gravy Over All stuck in my nose," I continued to complain.
"Sorry, babe," he said in his I'm-watching-the-NCAA-playoffs-and-not-really-listening-to-you voice.
A demonstration of the tools that help us maintain our strong marriage: We can talk without really having to listen to each other.
I got up from the couch and moved toward the laundry room to get out the last load of laundry. (Not the last load EVER - that would be so cool, though!) I bent over to unload the dryer, and my tooshie released a toot that was to end all toots. Ahhhhh! How do you spell relief? F-A-R-T-I-N-G.
From the living room, three rooms away, The Dad hollers, "Feel better?"
Obviously relieved, I hollered back, "Yes!"
Then, using his manly intuition, he calls out, "Want me to go get you a Murphy's Hot Hamburger with Gravy Over All?"
Oblivious to the fact that this will cause much more gas than I just expelled, I yelled back, "Hellz to the yeah, Baby!"
And that, my friends is how our marriage works: He gives me what I want and still goes to bed with me when I'm gassy.
