How I make it feel like summer at my house…
1. It isn’t summer at my house until I watch Dirty Dancing. I fully admit it. I love that she carried a watermelon. I love that they do the mashed potato, and that Patrick Swayze can’t help but watch her change through the rearview mirror in the car. Besides, nobody puts Baby in the corner. That’s why she’s at my house every summer.
2. Summer also starts when I clean the lawn chair so I can lay out, and I break out the bug spray and suntan lotion. It seems necessary since I’ve harped on my husband for so long about not getting skin cancer, I suppose the same principles have to apply to me. That said, if I had a cute cabana boy to apply it to me, it would be even better!
3. Of course, I also start every summer with high expectations that are dashed almost instantly. I think I’m going to do the once-a-year-good-solid-cleaning of every room in our house. By day 3 of summer, I have realized I will never make it through the entire house AND enjoy my summer if I actually take the time to dust things like the ceiling fan. Anybody know the number for Merry Maids???
4. And why do I realize on day 3 I’m never getting everything done? Well, it’s probably because I have to stop and turn on the French Open. Yes, I love to watch tennis. I can hear your comments already. Scoff if you will, I will be melting over Andy Roddick and hiding my eyes from Venus’ ass while you’re wearing dress pants and staring out the window of your office.
5. Next, I buy new razors. Because, amazingly enough, I might be in public in the near future. Plus, I might not want to show the world my hairy winter white legs. (Don’t even tell me that you don’t do the same thing if you’re female. I know I shave more often than a lot of you, but I will refrain from naming names, but assume yours is on the list!)
6. Finally, I get irritated with my husband. Without fail, at the beginning of every summer when I’m already worried that my summer will fly by way faster than I want it to, I get mad at my hubby. It’s really not his fault that I get this panic attack over my summer to-do list and how he can’t join me for any of the events (much to his great luck, he’d tell you).
I am a summer widow left to my own devices as my husband makes all the money and works a million hours. See, I know. He should be the one annoyed with me that I get to lounge around the house while he works ridiculous hours, but in fact, it is I that gets cranky. The man can’t win, because I want it all!
I want a summer of luxury. I want a summer of all my projects done. I want a summer of seeing friends and family. I want a summer of laying out, going to the pool, and vegetating on my couch. Oh, and maybe I want my significant other to actually go on a vacation with me when we won’t freeze our asses off! I know. I live in a dream world…but don’t laugh at me, or I’ll sic my husband on you. And I can already tell you what he’ll say as he’s putting you in your place, “Nobody puts Baby in the corner!”
But hopefully, somebody someday makes Baby a trophy wife!