Wrestle (with my Mother)

Phillip and I met in high school. Providence helped him break his ankle which meant he couldn't play on the soccer team anymore. He joined the track team instead. It was there that we met. It was also there that we fell in love--or was that in his parent's basement??? KIDDING KRISTINE!

Anyway.

High school flirting is a strange strange thing. Kids do the craziest things to be inconspicuously frisky with each other. We learned some tricks while we were dating, though. One trick is that if you want to touch each other, and not have it be weird to your observing family, you can just wrestle. Wrestling in reality is totally awkward for your family, but we were blind to this at the time.

It was one night during the winter at my parent's house that Phillip and I started to wrestle on the floor. Our relationship was just blossoming. Things got pretty intense--lot's of tickling, laughing, yelling, and loud thumps from us "falling onto each other" in a totally For the Strength of Youth kind of way of course. It was nice.

Nice until I hear my mother's bedroom door fling open. I hear her little feet stomp briskly down the stairs. We freeze. She pokes her head out from behind a pillar to hide the fact that she is in her underwear. She stares at us in shock and frantically and in all seriousness yells, "Oh my gosh, Phillip! Don't let her do that to you! When she was little she was mean to cats!"

Oh Cosmos, if there is ever a time where I could erase one embarrassing moment from my life completely, let it be now. I promise I will be good forever if you can grant me just this, I thought.

Nope. It still happened. And I just wrote about it. I'm so lucky Phillip embraced my family and decided to marry me. Thank you Cosmos.

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Rondelle makes a new best friend.

On Being Romantic

We have funky flour and sugar containers. They are cylinders made out of clear glass with a chalkboard square on the front. The containers came with chalk so you can label them "flour" or "sugar". But why write "flour" or "sugar" on them when you have a blank slate? You could write anything you want to! You know, confess your love your one and only companion, share a secret, write a memoir! The possibilities are absolutely endless.

I look over at our containers. What do they say?

"Poop"

Now that's what I call pure romance.

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Aragog makes an appearance as the Halloween centerpiece for our fantastic waffle brunch where we made the best waffles ever. Period.