Three Years

Let's forget for a second that I've been neglecting to write as much as I hoped I would.  Sorry

Let's instead focus on a gaggingly sweet thing that happened this weekend. If you don't like gaggingly sweet, I totally agree.  I just happen to be indulging because it's my life, blog, etc, so humor me pretty please.  Or don't.  I'll try to write again sooner so you don't keep coming back to this page and gagging. I know how unpleasant that can be. Trust me.

So Sunday night J-Man whisked me away to a 4.5 star hotel in downtown DC.  We went out for a fancy soul food dinner at Georgia Browns where we think we saw La La.  Actually, we have no idea who we saw.  We think she must be a reality star, hence the La La guess.  All I know is she had a stank face, ordered while wearing her ipod, ate while wearing her aviators, and then allowed patrons and waiters to take pictures with her before a quick exit with a seeming bodyguard type big guy.

We curled up in bathrobes under the fluffy comforter flipping channels.  We ventured out for Frozen Yo (thanks M, for introducing me and now J-Man to froyo we and our wallets can get behind) and got our daily fruit intake with a little dairy on the side.

We slept soundly and comfortably in a giant king size bed and when I woke up, here's where it gets cute, I heard J-Man in the shower.  Then he came out, with it still running.  My instinct was to tell him, "just because we aren't at home doesn't mean you can waste water like that."

I ignored that instinct and waited.  He shared first that he was running me a bath.  I asked for it to be warm, not hot, for peg's sake, so he upped the cool to hot ratio.  Then he asked what I wanted for breakfast.  While he ventured out into the rain, I soaked in a lovely warm, not hot, bath where shower gel provided inches of bubbles to blow around.

I'd just dried off when in he walked with exactly what I wanted.  How spoiled am I?

So we lazed around some more, I taught J-Man the ins and outs of Kathie Lee and Hoda and how to watch them without hating them, before a Nats game, some semi-matchmaking, my first pregnant hot dog (a girl can't stay hot dog free forever) my first shake shack burger, and finally home sweet home.

So yeah, it's been three years, I'm still happy and in love and reminded often of the fact that I made a good choice.  I hope J-Man feels the same way.  If not, I'll buy him some beef jerky, let him have a poker night with the boys, and not roll my eyes when he starts blasting those Sunday morning last minute Fantasy Football lineup podcasts.


To three more good years. Or 33 more years.  Or 333 years (you know, if we're on life support and our family refuses to pull the plug. Ever.)  Happy Anniversary J-Man.