After eight years of marriage… caught in the act!

May 30, 2011

Oh the shame. I know we all do it. It’s natural, oh so satisfying, and perfectly healthy. But I managed to go eight long years before my husband ever caught me in the act. I could have sworn I heard the door shut after him on his way to work. I was so sure I was alone…

Then the shower curtain tweaked open and there was his rosy cheeked face looking up at me all innocent and questioning, as if seeing me for the very first time…

“Were you…?” he asked, his smile gleeful as he peeled back the last layer of his wife’s nakedness. “Were you really singing in the shower?”

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A sure sign it’s time to do the dishes…

November 26, 2010

“Can you get me a plate?” called hubby from the living room.

“Um… there are no plates,” I answered from the kitchen.

He didn’t skip a beat. “Or something plate-like then?”

With all due pomp and circumstance, I presented my man with a Tupperware lid.

In the years since the renegotiation of THE (infamous) DEAL – a politically charged, highly controversial, bit of newlywed legislation – we’ve held a long running Mexican Standoff over the dishes. And, much like the World War II era housewives who fashioned ball gowns out of mattress ticking, we weather each long siege (before the inevitable dish soap blitz) with resourcefulness and creativity. Necessity may be the mother of invention, but in our Calgary apartment, invention’s maternal grandparents go by the names ‘stubbornness’ and ‘procrastination’.


Concerning eyeglasses, mortality, and the miracles worked by a George Foreman Grill

November 9, 2010

George Foreman: boxer, spokesman, quiet champion for immortal truths

I answered the doorbell last Sunday wearing long johns and one of my husband’s giant sweaters. The dapper couple in the doorway looked past my fashion faux-pas and proceeded to expound on ‘why war happens’ and, if that wasn’t helpful enough, ‘where I’m going after I die’ – all with the help of a colourful brochure. The man looked like he’d just stepped off Ed Sullivan’s stage with a 60’s boy band, while his partner, a lovely earnest girl, was dressed in the prerequisite knee-length skirt and ‘sensible’ shoes.

But there was something about her that didn’t quite fit the cliché…

“Awesome glasses,” I said, “those have got to be the coolest frames I’ve ever seen.”

Her face lit up and her demeanor brightened right away. The moment served as further proof that however strong our faith, our souls are still driven to justify themselves within the social/material construct of our physical world. As I writer, I itch for validation and recognition as much as the next biped. My husband, on the other hand, has always been a rebel.

“So how do you deal with the pain of your mortality?” I asked the wise man sitting next to me on the couch.

“We live… we die.” He shrugged and turned back to the TV.

He was right, of course, and – philosophical crisis averted – my body relaxed into the warm beige faux-suede beside him. Though, I do think much of his Zen frame of mind could be attributed to the disturbingly huge slab of juicy grilled beef he’d just devoured. George Foreman may have been beaten by Mohammad Ali in 1974, but yesterday, in Calgary, Canada, the ex-boxer took on mortality itself – and knocked it flat.

(image source)


Top 10 ways to avoid becoming a golf widow

October 29, 2010

As another golf season draws to a close, and I welcome my man back from the front, I feel it is my duty to give other would-be-golf-widows some tips in order to avoid a lifetime of long lonely summers…

1. Buy snowpants. You will be wearing them on the golf course if you live in Canada (or get snowed in – like we did! – in Myrtle Beach).

2. Remember, nothing says true romance like lugging two sets of clubs around on public transportation – as long as it’s not on a first date!

3. Educate yourself on golf swing fundamentals, and take some lessons so you can learn to filter your man’s advice – because, like any flood, you can’t stop the deluge, only channel it away from your foundations.

4. Don’t count your score – at least not for the first 5 years of marriage, oops…I mean golf.

5. If you and your man play right handed, take the outdoor driving range mat to his right. A good Waggle can be a great asset!

6. To keep your man at home, build an indoor driving range (cut a hole in a cheap 2’/3’ entrance mat and insert a rubber tee). Note: chipped door frames and broken double-paned kitchen windows are a small price to pay (I would know).

7. When looking for your first home, always rent or buy based on ceiling height. And remember, full length mirrors aren’t just for ballet studios – they also make great swing practice aids.

8. Astroturf, available at any home improvement store, makes a great living room practice green – and its borders can be cut in elegant curves to match your décor (been there, done that).

9. Learn to love, or at least tolerate, or at least survive, watching The Champions Tour.

10. Familiarize yourself with the definition of MOI, and don’t be afraid to apply it when your man starts watching too much LPGA!

These ten tricks should help you stave off the dreaded golf widow syndrome. Remember, it doesn’t matter how low your score is; a cute outfit, some comfy golf shoes, and a patient husband are all it takes to make the game worth playing. Just make sure your husband reads <TOP FIVE – What NOT to do when golfing with a woman> first!


Not sure what to make of this…

May 6, 2010

What happens to a marriage after it ends? My parents fought to stay together for almost 20 years, before finally giving in to the inevitable – that two people coming from such opposite poles should never cohabit (except for the purposes of popping out two fab offspring). But what happens to that love – and by Golly there was no shortage of that – once the papers have been signed? 

I had my Mom on the line the other day, and I was laying on the advice pretty thick. All kinds of solutions and suggestions were streaming across the country – Calgary to Ottawa direct. When I hung up the phone, I was startled to see what I’d been doodling – or rather, who. Right there on the paper, staring up at me with scribbly eyes and flippant hair, was my father. I had unconsciously invited the man into our conversation… him or some archetypal god figure (kindly leave Freud out of this – thank you very much). It’s comforting, I suppose, to know that a marriage doesn’t just dissolve out into the universe… at least not without sneaking back from time to time to do a bit of haunting.


Spice up your marriage using THIS golf skill

March 29, 2010

It was the perfect swing, precise and powerful, a clean hit off my 6-iron’s sweet-spot. The exquisite “PING” was followed by a more human, yet equally exultant, sound from close behind my mat. It was warm and gutteral, an expression of blissful satisfaction entirely inappropriate for the driving range. I turned to find my husband standing behind me, his mouth still hanging open.

“Do you need a tissue?” I asked with a giggle.

“Don’t stop!” chided dear hubby. “You’ll lose your rhythm!” 

So, like any good wife whose husband’s golf guidance is finally paying off, I pulled out my driver and savoured the ecstasies as said husband sailed clear over the moon. I can only imagine what would be coming out of Hank Haney’s mouth if Charles Barkley ever swung so pure. The Golf Channel would need a whole different rating!


Burning The Ugly Pants: Join a 2010 personal style makeover (Update I)

February 16, 2010

Since beginning this makeover, I have officially been hit on twice (albeit mildly) at the grocery store. This, as any woman will attest, must be logged as quantitative proof of progress. I bragged about this new development to my dear hubby, who was suitably impressed. Although, come to think of it, maybe he was a little too impressed. I’ve always assumed he thought of me as the blond Pied Piper of Calgary, trailing a long line of hapless suitors behind. Why else would I have spent 10 years learning the flute and waking up for 7:30 band practices!

Need to catch up on this Saving Cymbria blog serial?