Marriage

Him:  Pickles?  You planted pickles or did you mean cucumbers? (him reading the tags I painstakingly put at each row)
Me (glaring):
Him:  Aren't they pickles only after you pickle them?
Me:
Him:  Did you put the melons in here?  Don't they sprawl and go all over the place?
Me:
Him:  Do we eat that many beets?  That is a lot of beets.
Me:  (I open my mouth to say something but can't think of anything that won't come out bitchy)
Him:  Swiss chard?  Do we eat swiss chard?
Me (grumpy now):  Yes, and we love it!
Him:  Are those the hardy hibiscus?
Me:  No.  You will have to carry the pots in when it gets cold.
Him (with a laugh):  No.  I'm not.
Me (This is when I officially lost it.  I try to stomp away but after all this gardening, my knee hurts a little.  So I limp away -way less aggressively than I'd've liked to):

I admit, I was questioning things too after this interrogation.   Mind you, the above is just a small portion of the actual '20 Question's' game he was playing.  Why did I marry this man?  I shouldn't have to explain beets and melons.  It's 100 degrees out here I just wanted him to silently help me run hoses.  I turned and spit behind the tree (see New Year's Resolutions post).

Some of my friends say they married their best friend.  I did not marry my bf, my best friend is Janice.  I married a super cute cowboy pilot -who likes to interrogate and explain stuff.  Because he likes to interrogate and explain stuff, he does not know how much I spent on the new quilt and curtains I bought for our room.  "They were on sale" is always my answer.  Janice, she knows what I actually spent on them.  I don't try to look spiffy for Janice, I do for the man I married though.  Janice would certainly compliment my hard work in the garden and not question vegetable choices.

There I am limping around the yard, thinking about marriage and shit when I see a pile of metal.  This was from a gazebo we bought from Lowe's that blew into the neighbors yard, twice.  Two times.  We've patched and welded it back twice.  The third time it went flying, we gave up and the cowboy pilot built a pavilion that would not blow away.  I'm serious, he built it, I bet a rhino couldn't knock it down.  I'm starting to think he isn't all bad.  If he could only be less, you know, talking.

The pile of metal that once was a gazebo is just laying there trashing up the flower bed for the last 2 years.  2 Years.  I start a kind of rant to myself.  Mind you, my knee hurts and I had to go through an interrogation about my garden.  Now I'll have make time to deal with this metal mess, only because I chose that moment to be sick of looking at it.  I'll have to drag the pieces up the hill to the Buick taking about 100 trips to get it all.  Should I attempt to use the wheelbarrow? (last time I used the wheelbarrow I ended up with bruises all over my shins)  Will the dump take it?  Isn't there a place that will give you money for metal?  This might help with my flute situation, though.  This is all coming out of my mouth in an under my breath, pissy type tone.

He's hears me because he's a super cute ninja cowboy pilot and says, "I was going to make that into a greenhouse for you."  F me.  That's why I married him.  I remember now.

No one said it would be easy being married to a ninja cowboy pilot.  For one, he is never home.  For another, one minute you're standing there minding your own business when suddenly, there he is right behind you.  You never even heard him coming.  As you stand there collecting yourself wondering if the neighbors heard you scream, you realize this Wrangler wearing Texan is going to love the new quilt and curtains.

You have to give and take and appreciate.  You have to let your partner (for life) be who they are, no trying to change anything.  No judgement -just understanding and respect.  Sometimes these lines of respect and understanding get blurred but at the end of the day, if you can put it back together and hit it again tomorrow, it's a win.  Or a greenhouse....whatever.