Mark and I are in a car with friends. Mark is driving. There is chatting and laughing, but also? There is tension.
Mark and I have something to discuss. And this thing we need to discuss? Hangs heavy and impatient in the air.
And then it’s just the two of us in the car.
Mark turns to me, and I look into his eyes. I see the face of the man I have loved for so many years. The man with whom I have built a family, a life, a home.
I see Mark. The other half of me.
And the other half of me is explaining, with pleading sincerity, that he loves me.
And that he would like to sleep with other people.
Alrighty, then.
He keeps talking, but my mind is racing on without him. Thinking about the girls and my life and my future. Things to be done. Steps to be taken.
Sleeping with other people . . . are you fucking kidding me? Not even. I am so fucking out of here.
Mark is still talking, and now I am thinking about this blog and all of the hundreds of times I have written about Mark in loving terms. Oh my god, I am going to look like such a fucking fool. Pretty All True is pretty all dead . . . how the fuck did I not see this coming?
Mark has turned out to be such a faithless fucking asshole.
He is sitting here beside me this morning.
I am furious with him. Furious and heartbroken.
He looks over at me, “What is wrong with you?”
Hmmmph . . . “Nothing.”
It was a very vivid dream.
What?
Also annoying this morning? Mark bought us an enormous supply of these business envelopes that have an adhesive strip. You just peel off the backing and voila! Stickiness!
So you don’t have to lick them. Because we are too fucking lazy to lick, apparently.
Well, Mark is.
What?
Did I mention these envelopes are a Costco purchase? So we have 500. That’s like a forever supply. And because we have a forever supply? The girls feel free to use the envelopes for whatever purpose pops into their minds.
Like . . .
Shells and rocks and home-made confetti and stickers and notes and dog fur and excess sugar dust from a Fun-Dip candy and fish food and flowers and glitter.
Our house is filled with sealed envelopes no one had to lick.
That’s just all kinds of awesome, right?
Ok, but here’s the thing. Every time an envelope is used? There is a little strip of adhesive backing left over. And every time an envelope is used? A decision must be made . . . what should be done with this leftover bit of trash?
And every time one of these envelopes is used? The girls seem to be of the opinion that if Daddy meant to save them the effort of licking? Then he surely could not have meant for them to get up and walk over to throw this piece of peeled-off trash in the garbage.
That wouldn’t even make sense!
It is hard to argue with their logic.
So I am forever picking up these little adhesive backing strips, and every fucking time? My brain thinks (just for an instant) that someone has changed her sanitary pad . . . in my kitchen, and in my living room, and in the bedroom, and in my back yard. Someone too fucking lazy to walk the strip of adhesive backing over to the garbage can.
Why would these menstrual sluts not just use the bathroom? And where are these crazy bloody women hiding the nasty used pads? That’s what I want to know.
What?
I hold one of these little strips in my hand and crinkle it between my fingers. It feels the same. It looks the same.
Goddamn Mark and his lazy no-licking menstrually-synchronized envelope whores.
What?
Words on the little slip of shame declare, “Peel and Seel.”
That is way suggestive and trashy. And also? Illiterate.
Mark is tiring of my intellect, apparently.
He’s going to seel the deal with some stupid someone else.
What?
Back at my computer.
Tappity tappity tappity tap.
I mention to Mark that I had a dream that he wanted to sleep with other people.
He is all eager ears . . . “I never have cool dreams like that! Did I introduce you to these other women? Were they cute?”
Mark is way annoying sometimes.
I turn to him, “I didn’t see the other women, but my impression of them was that they were stupid and lazy. And that they all seemed to have a perpetual menstrual cycle. And there was no oral sex . . . I distinctly remember that dream-you had an issue with licking.”
OK, so I fudged the details a bit.
Mark is all sad and disappointed in his dream-self.
As am I.
As am fucking I.
What?
Dammit.
And here I thought I might have a chance to explore my untapped homosexual urges by tapping your husband.
There is no joy in Mudville–mighty Nigel has struck out.
Mighty.
Effin’ typo.
Oops. Fixed your typo.
So now you look even less mighty, worrying about a typo that doesn’t even exist.
HA!
By the way?
Mark is not going to be happy to hear about the tapping fantasies.
At all.
But I am running off happily to tell him.
Hee hee!
And your gushing geyser of glee?
That’s why I say the things I do to you.
Enjoy!
Well, aren’t you the master of orgasmic alliteration?
Your forgot giggling.
And grateful.
OHMYFUCKINGGODDON’TEVERDOTHATTOMEAGAIN! I am way gullible, and I totally fell for that.
The sticky backing? We have that same issue here. From Netflix envelopes. Nobody fucking throws them away. They are constantly on the floor and I am constantly stepping on them and then they stick to my foot and I am seething with silent rage. I love Netflix though.
My readers?
You guys are a gullible bunch.
Except now when I do have big news to report? No one will believe me.
I am like the little shepard boy crying wolf.
And then the sheep and I are all eaten.
That will be all Mark’s fault, by the way.
Wow, got me too. Are you like one of those people who starts their voice mail with a “Hi” and then a pause, so stupid people like me start talking like you actually answered the phone?
Oh, and I love those envelopes. I can take them off your hands if you want.
I am not a mean person! I hate when people’s answering machines make me look a fool.
I would never do that to you.
And I am REALLY REALLY surprised that so many people thought Mark would be such an asshole.
Mark is surprised too – He thought you guys loved him!
And he loves his envelopes.
Snort!
At the begining? I was going to drive out there and kick some ass. Except my car sucks and you would probably have to rescue me in Nebraska. Also, the saddest part? Was when you said your blog was dead. Luckily it was just a dream. A La Wizard of eff-ing Oz.
I never dream- good or bad- about my husband. But I do about exes. Those dreams? Aren’t so much discussed over breakfast.
Oooooh . . . I have those sorts of dreams.
They are excellent.
But better kept to myself.
Shhhhh.
So I was all worried and stuff at first and trying to think of something nice to say without sounding like a cockholster and now I don’t have to!
Anyhoo…a friend of mine told me licking envelopes is bad for you because there’s something about the glue that attracts roaches to lay their eggs in it so ewww…
We have already snoped the roach rumor, and guess what?
It’s a lie.
There are no roaches or roach eggs in your envelope glue.
Lick all you like.
I had a vivid dream a few days ago. I was on the moon. I was going to be there for three months. I was doing big jumps and filming them. Then someone asked me about my phone camera. I had a very technically accurate and vivid conversation with them about the iPhone. And then I had a sudden realisation that I had come to the moon for three months which meant I would be away when the iPhone 4 came out (hasn’t been released in Australia yet). That made me very sad.
I woke up thinking that seemed a little odd.
A little odd?
You are so cute.
And very odd.
Very odd, indeed. But in a good way.
The doctor says I did not in fact break my jaw when it hit my desk, so I’m not supposed to be all mad at you. Mad for making my heart skip not two, but I’m sure three whole beats and I need them, I have kids that remove about 20 a day, add it up and I’m so close to death I can taste worms!
My therapist also says it is not your fault that I hallucinated your Mark in my office, metamorphosing into a seven-headed hydra beast that wore the heads of every asshole I’ve ever dated or married.
But I can ooze with jealousy in a most bizarre worshipy way because you tell your stories soooooo fucking, god-damn well. Shit. I’m completely speechless.
That was soooo fucking hilarious!
And now?
You have been promoted! You are my new favorite reader, what with your . . . oozing jealousy in a most bizarre worshippy way.
That is poetry!
Kris!
You can’t scare me like this. But I have to admit, as I was barely skimming your words (don’t worry, I went back…) to make sure that you were okay, I knew there was about a 80% chance that there was a twist and it wasn’t entirely as you thought. Because who would be stupid enough to piss off all of your devoted readers and have hundreds of women banging at their door with raised fists- and maybe a few weapons we managed to dig up? And don’t say Mark.
I’m realizing that I’m writing faster than I think and that would be dumb. You must have readers from all over the world, and to coordinate a massive movement and simultaneously arrive to do this in unison? Impossible.
So it would be more like random little bursts of one or two women at his door with raised fists and some possible weapons. And who would be stupid enough to initiate something like this?
And don’t say Mark.
So it would be more like random little bursts of one or two women at his door with raised fists and some possible weapons.
Oh my god . . . laughing so hard.
And also?
Mark.
I once had a dream that my husband left me for someone else and was blatant about it. Like in my dream I saw them making out and stuff. It was way too vivid. I wasn’t pissed at him. I woke up almost in tears. I wish I was pissed. It would have helped my emotional state.
Anger is way more fun than sadness.
Way more.
Kris,
I think I will laugh once I have forgiven you. In possibly decades. I really stopped breathing. The demon beast had not skipped a generation after all. Oh right. Dream sequence. Breath in… OK, did that… But my heart is still on the ground. DON’T do that evah again.
And in hopes of ending on a more humorous tone… A friend’s four-year daughter must have been bathing with the new baby brother. She proudly announced to her grandma, “I have a penis in this ear and a budgina in this one.”
Snort.
Bill
Snort, indeed!
That’s hilarious!
And seriously? I thought you were one of my more cynical readers.
Look at you . . . all mushy.
Hee hee!
I love your posts and your writing, wit and humour. You SOOO totally rock!! However, I do think that you and Mark need to have some “adult” time and he needs to be very attentive to you.
What?
Great minds think alike!
And also? I was a little ahead of you.
I hope that dream didn’t stick with you throughout the day too long. That’s the worst part of those dreams to me… the way the aura follows you around through the day. I was duped for a minute like most others, and I was just feeling sad since I had just finished catching up on EVERY post you’ve put up since I discovered this blog a week or two ago. So then I’m like, “Great! I just read everything she had ever posted and I’m all emotionally invested and now this happens!”
Dreams are wonderful in that they help you sort things out and horrible in the way they do it.
You went back and read all of my posts?
I love you, now.
A lot.
Swoon.
Yeah, I was actually a little sad when I finished and realized that I now have to wait for a new post every day rather than geeking out on post after post like I’ve been doing.
By the way, Kallan’s book report from a few months ago had me crying. It was awesome.
You really DID go back and read the archives!
I still like Kallan’s book report . . . very much.
Thanks, you.
And still?
Swoon.
I know, I’m tardy to the party, but I’ve actually been doing work, as in my job, you know, the thing that pays the bills? So….I’m sitting here reading thinking, “oh this will be a cute post, I bet it has to do with Mark not taking out the trash, la la la” and then I start reading…then stop…read again…and honestly think this has just happened! Wow, you really got me.
Love you, gotten one.
I too had dreams about my husband cheating and I was in suck a bad mood when I woke up and couldn’t remember why right away. Then when I told my husband, he was a little relieved to hear I was in a bad mood not for something he actually did. But then I was questioning what did he actually do, for him to think I was mad?
This posting was an awesome read, thanks, it had me reading faster then I think my brain could comprehend.
But then I was questioning what did he actually do, for him to think I was mad?
I am all snorty!
Wow. Wow. I was really confused for several very long minutes. I get it now. Not cool to scare us all like that!
I am all God-like here on Pretty All True.
It is my world.
HAHAHAHA!