I may be deceased when you read this and if so, thank you all for reading it has been a pleasure writing for you. Mike left for his annual golf trip and I painted his office bathroom bright pink. He comes home today. This brain child has been incubating for a good month in my medulla oblongata ever since Eye Candi (his associate) said “I want to have the computer guy photo shop one of Mike’s office walls pink and then I will send him the picture when he is gone.” And because I am an asshole, I was like “Fuck that, why don’t we just paint it pink?” And Eye Candi said “Well, he did say to make myself comfortable here….” And I said “Weeeeeeell then there you go.” And so we did it. I am going to feel really bad if she gets fired because I have developed a fondness for her but if push comes to shove, it was totally her idea.
I do however have justification in this particular instance for my errant behavior. Let’s rewind to eleven years ago. Mike would leave for his golf trip and love notes would blanket the counter complete with a little present to open each day he was gone. “Two hearts beat as one” “I can’t live without you” “You are my heart’s desire” etc. etc . Yeah. For real. Dude had it bad for me. Fast forward ten years, I get a card written by Hallmark that has someone else’s eloquent admissions of love printed inside and a signature scribbled “Love, Mike.” Welcome to 2012, I ran downstairs on the morning he left to retrieve my love note. Nothing. Hmmmm, that’s odd. Perhaps he hid it. I look around. Still Nothing. OMG, he motherfucking forgot. I asked him when he landed and my darling husband said “I always leave you a love note? Really? Well you know I love you. Have fun with the girls!” And then I hung up, started crying and went to Home Depot.
Now, it is not that I care about Mike going on golf trips. In fact I think it is entirely healthy for couples to pursue individual interests assuming it is not a porn addiction. And truthfully, I like making cereal for dinner for a week and letting the dogs sleep in bed with me. Last year, I had my boobs done the week before he left and I did fine without him. The year Mike golfed in Las Vegas, I successfully managed two babies and saved the day when the credit card fraud department called me to inquire if the extensive charges being made were legitimate. Of course I denied everything and had them deactivate it immediately because I am thoughtful like that.
So, I showed up at the office with my paint supplies. Mike’s goody-two-shoes-super-ethical front desk person literally paled and refused to even touch anything because she was afraid she would be plagued an accessory to the crime which brought a smile to my face for the first time in days! I bought tampons, yeast infection medicine, pregnancy tests and every other thing a vagina might need throughout the day to place in an adorable basket on top of the toilet. Then Eye Candi forced Mike’s pregnant hygienist to pee on a stick which we just left sitting on top of the toilet. And you know what? Even though I still felt a little sad that Mike forgot he had a wife, I felt comforted in knowing it was only a matter of time before he remembered.
Unfortunately, I woke up yesterday to a text from Mike confessing his love for me and the guilt started to seep in. And then I reread a post on Facebook from my friend Ann who said that she was nervous when she bought a new shower curtain after ten years because her husband might be angered by her feral conduct. WTF. Some men do not know how good they have it. And then I started to really fucking panic because I had no goddamn idea if Colorado was a no-fault state, not to mention the obvious fact that no man in his right mind will ever want me if Mike leaves because of this stupid blog I created. Christ, all you have to do is google my name to learn that I confessed to almost shitting myself at Walgreens, I ruined an expensive car with a dead rotting chicken, I only had one boob and my house, albeit hysterical and generally happy, is CHAOTIC complete with dogs, a dove, a hamster, lizards and my daughter’s pet worms (chill, not intestinal, living in Tupperware on her dresser).
When I confessed my mounting apprehension to my girlfriends, there was an astounding chorus of “Own It Sister!” “You Are Our Hero!” And you know what? They are right. I did it. I fucking painted my husband’s office pink. And I do have the courage and conviction hidden somewhere deep in my confines of my soul to own my action. I will patiently await my fate because this is not just an act of vandalism but a declarative stand for women across America to bind together as a unified front to illustrate that we will no longer be unappreciated or ignored! Annnnnnnnd also because I have no idea what kind of primer I need to change it back. XO