Earlier this week, I had an interesting conversation with Ashley. She had gone shopping on Sunday and bought some new clothes. As we were leaving for work on Monday morning, Ashley asks, "So do you like my shirt?" It was plaid. And while her ensemble was probably fine from a fashion sense, I didn't like it. So I replied, "No, not really." My honesty should not have surprised Ashley, as I've told her many times, "If you don't want my honest opinion, don't ask for it," with the only exception to this rule being when she gets her hair done ("It looks great, honey. It really does.") Nor do I see anything wrong with what I said. But somehow, me not liking her shirt translated in her head to, "Gosh you look ugly today." She was very quiet on the drive to work. I thought she was tired, but evidently she was stewing over my comment. After awhile, her lip pouts out (much like Bode's does) and she mutters something about me not liking the shirt. A man without almost 10 years marriage experience might have tried to respond, to somehow win this unwinnable pot like a Texas Hold'em player drawing dead on the river. Not me. I kept quiet. I've learned. :-)
I don't regret saying I didn't like the shirt, as somehow this would have led to a series of plaid clothes in my wardrobe. It's like a guy who's been dating a girl for a few months. Perhaps she offers to give him a back-rub. To his horror, he quickly realizes this girl has no skills in this area. But does he say it feels bad? Of course not, thus resigning himself to bad massages the rest of his life**.
Bode really likes to dance. A woman at daycare even commented that, "Bode's got some moves." This morning, I brought a radio out to the family room. We're not convinced he's a future contestant on So You Think You Can Dance?, but here are some action shots.
Finally, here's a movie of Bode cutting that rug to Little Richard's Long Tall Sally.Overall the weekend was pretty good. I ran in the USAF Marathon on Saturday, but sadly, I did not do as well as I had hoped. I went in trying to run a Boston Marathon qualifying time of 3:15:59, and I was confident I could do this. I cruised through the halfway point in 1:33:10. However, around mile 16 I started having muscle cramps (both calfs, both quads, both hamstrings...basically the trifecta of leg pain). I ended up walking a good portion near the end, as my quads simply refused to work (for those that don't know, a cramp is not something you can just power through). I'm proud that I finished with a personal best time of 3:40:58, but disappointed. That being sad, I don't envision trying to qualify for Boston again in the near future. Ten kilometers is about as far as I ever want to run, and the only running I'll be doing this week is to the refridgerator. I've got a summer's worth of ice cream to eat! Pleasant day to all.
** This is just a fictious anecdote. No way is this related to me or anyone I know (I love my leg massages).
** This is just a fictious anecdote. No way is this related to me or anyone I know (I love my leg massages).
1 comment:
Jeff, This sounds familiar. Last week Kristin and I were doing a spin class together, when the instructor suggested a race. The idea was as a team of 2 to sprint as fast as you could for 30 rotations counting every time your left leg went around. Kristin and I were a team and after going around 30 times I would point to her to do her 30 this was done for 4 sets, then when you were finished your team stood-up.
So, we did it once and we got beat by 5 seconds. Then on the second race, I went all out 110%, Kristin was flying and after she pointed to me to do my last set, these girls stand-up on their peddles and say "Done!" Well, I had a bad week and was a little frustrated so I turned to Kristin and said "they #$%^in' cheated." Then after class she was acting strange and I asked what was wrong and she said "you called me a cheater."
Well, the story goes on but bottom line it was a mis-communication and my wife was mad at me. Good luck buddy!
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