It is a fair assessment to say that Mike and I are obsessed with each other. We are constantly kissing, groping and touching one another. We make each other laugh and watch violent crime shows together. Our relationship is seriously amazeballs. I have even gone as far as getting a henna tattoo that lasted upwards to three weeks of an “M” on my wrist to proclaim my eternal devotion to him. We have been together for thirteen years and we are like seriously in passionate, baby making, soul shaking LOOOOOOOVE.
Except when we travel and then we fucking hate each other.
Mike insists that we get to the airport the day before we are scheduled to go somewhere because wasting his life doesn’t appear to bother him. I prefer to arrive at the airport and stroll (or occasionally run, whatthefuckever) immediately onto the plane. He carries a manilla folder with our itinerary and briskly walks ten paces ahead as I attempt to wrangle three children with suitcases and backpacks and keep up with his ass. I have offered to buy him a turban on eBay to complete the look but that just makes him angrier. Maybe he is a racist.
Traveling induces a barrage of passive aggressive comments from Mike, “I sure hope we make it” or “It’s going to be really close” and “Mommy needs to pack a little earlier next time huh guys?!” I refuse to cave to his immature barbs. I simply stop my strict kegel exercise regime of a thousand concentrated intense squeezes per day to punish him until my anger dissipates. Sometimes days…sometimes weeks…
Recently, our family went to Mexico. Mexico is my favorite vacation spot. Oh but Erin, Mexico is disgusting! How can you say such a thing?! You are correct, Mexico is revolting and my feelings about immigration have totally changed. I wanted to get the fuck out too after a couple days. However, at all-inclusive resorts there is an overwhelming abundance of buffets. I am not even being dramatic when I say I would rather be photographed wearing a denim shirt than eat at a buffet. Annnnd as a result, I do not gorge myself on carbohydrates thus allowing me to maintain my svelte pre-vacay figure.
Anywho, a couple months before we were crossing the border, we had to have our daughters‘ passports updated. The notary accidentally forgot to sign the application forms and we had to start the entire process over a week before we were scheduled to depart. I calmly handled everything because I take Lexapro and have a vagina. Predictably, Mike had a mega meltdown which had an adverse effect on my radiant bright yellow aura since I deeply internalize other’s emotions. I took it upon myself to consciously visualize the passports arriving on time (and that I would get super rich and have my own personal stylist.)
I reassured Mike that everything would be fine but instead of expressing gratitude, he told me how he would have handled things differently. Apparently, he has a secret “in” pertaining to the expedited distribution of federal documents that I was unaware of. My husband’s insult was followed by some ingrate condescendingly saying, “Good Job Mom” to me when she heard the story. Hahahahahaha. Hi. Am I on glue or was this soooo not my fault? *Passports arrived at noon the day before and my vagina has not exercised once since then.
Anywho, summer is almost over and we will have nine glorious months full of marital counseling to repair the damage amassed over our travels. XO