More proof that Tommy deserves a better wife

Shauna — Tue, 17 Nov 2009 13:32:13 +0000

It’s been a while since I prepared a meal. And when I say it’s *been a while* I mean I can’t remember the last time I did.

Because really? The kids don’t care. They would eat Campbell’s Chicken Noodle Soup every day or Kraft Mac and Cheese.

And I follow behind them and eat their leftovers.

It’s a great system.

But then there’s Tommy.

He grew up with a mother who prepared a home cooked meal every night–from scratch–and so the first few times I announced it was chili dog night he looked like he’d just been kicked in the man sack.

What? You no like chili dogs, Tommy G?

So. I’ve learned over the years how to prepare a home cooked meal–one that didn’t involve a can or a box.

It’s hard y’all.

Also? He likes a salad with dinner too. And most days I like a salad too. It makes me feel less dirty for eating a cheeseburger for lunch. Like I’m doing my body a favor by introducing it to green leafy non cheesy foods.

But the problem with lettuce and tomatoes and shit, is that you need to wash them.

Really? Who has the time?

So last night I might have skipped that step.

I was *sure* no one would notice. And when I say no one I mean Tommy.

But, he took the first bite and in mid chew, spit it back on his plate.

“This tastes like dirt.”

Oops.

“What do you mean?”

“The lettuce. It’s covered in dirt. Did you wash it?”

Me, acting offended. “Dude. You asked for a salad. You didn’t say *anything* about washing the lettuce.”

He rolls his eyes. “I think I’ll skip it tonight.”

You’re welcome.

Hey!! Find me over at Aiming Low today where I write about how eating is not for pussies.

Of the non-human kind

Shauna — Thu, 27 Aug 2009 20:53:00 +0000

There’s this woman at the gym who annoys me.

On many levels.

She’s older, I’d say at least a hundred and eleven. And for a woman over a century old, she’s pretty spunky (read: Nerve Grating). And also? She might not be human. I mean, she has human qualities, but there’s some question as to whether or not she actually IS. But I’ll get to that later.

Most days, she saunters into the gym, stakes out her usual elliptical machine and then calls dibs on the television closest to that machine.

“Can somebody please change the channel to Fox News? (First clue she may not be of the human kind) I need to watch Fox News. It’s the most fair and balanced news program on television. It says so right there on the screen.” And then she waves her arms around like a lunatic until someone in charge changes the TV to Fox News.

After successfully hijacking the television, she climbs aboard the elliptical where she spends the next 30 minutes heaving, moaning and writhing like an out of control donkey (no offense to actual donkeys).

During this time I’m usually on a machine behind her. Unfortunately. My eyes twitch and burn if I stare too long, but dammit, I can’t turn away. What can I say, I’m easily entertained/horrified. I most enjoy the days when she dons her sparkly, silver, skin-tight leggings, which are 4 sizes too small and are probably intended for toddlers. Watching her ass jiggle from behind is like being on a field trip at a sausage factory and watching grown men stuff pig parts into intestinal casings. *This is actually not such a bad thing because after my work outs I’m usually too nauseated to eat.

She wears headphones and while the rest us cannot hear the television she is nice enough to add her own commentary and insightful opinions on everything from healthcare reform to the latest gossip about Jon and Kate. She tends to lean towards the side of Kate (The second clue she may not be human). It’s ALL kinds of awesome.

This morning, she walked in and made a beeline in my direction. I looked to my left and then to my right. Hopefully it wasn’t ME she was approaching.

“I saw something yesterday in a magazine,” she said.

Uh-oh. I think she might be talking to me after all.

“Oh yeah? What?”

“It was an article, apparently written by you.” And when she said, “you” she pointed her finger in my face just so that she almost poked me in the eye. Had I not backed up some, I might be wearing an eye patch today. Which, let’s be honest, would not be a good look for me. One-eyed Shauna does not have a nice easy ring to it, nor does it make me sound hot. Unless you’re into that kind of thing–not that there’s anything wrong with that.

“Well, if it said ‘By Shauna Glenn,’ then it probably was written by me.”

Her eyes lit up then (quick side: I’ve never seen red eyeballs before. And not like blood shot eyes. I’ve seen that. I’m talking the color of her actual eyeballs were red. So I’m thinking non-human, which explains a lot and is clue number three if you’re counting) and she laughed, squealing out a barely decipherable and eery, “Oh my God, that’s YOOOOOOU?”

Yeah. That me.

“Sooooo, it was cute–enough,” she said. “I mean, it’s not really my thing, the whole, you know, writing about husbands and life and what not, you know, but still, cute enough.”

Well. Thank YOU for that glowing review.

I smiled through gritted teeth. At this point, I tried not to make eye contact with her, afraid that doing such a thing might turn me to stone. You never know with century old, red eye-balled, non humans.

What? It could happen.

“Soooo,” she continues, “did your husband divorce you after he read the article?”

Yes. My husband divorced me after I wrote an article about how if marriage licenses expired I might not renew mine.

And then I listened to myself as I replayed that in my head.

Wait. I wrote an article about how I probably, most likely, wouldn’t renew my marriage license if it expired, and my husband is OK with that?

Hmm.

I looked at century old, red eye-balled, non human woman and said, “You know, that’s a good question. What man would be OK with his wife writing something like that?”

She looked into my eyes then (Please don’t turn me into stone, Please don’t turn me into stone) and said, “If I had to guess, I’d say he’s most likely not human and from another planet.”

Well. She would know.

ShaunaGlenn.com » i totally suck at this

More proof that Tommy deserves a better wife

Of the non-human kind