Hindsight’s a bitch.
On Saturday, my dear friend Steven Davis got married. To celebrate this joyous occasion, Peter’s dad let us take the BMW convertible to the wedding. He drove from his house to my house with the top down. I don’t know if you remember, but it was cloudy and rainy and not very warm on Saturday.
Scene: Peter arrives. Sara rushes out of the house as Peter is getting out of his car.
Peter: *over-dramatic sigh* Well. *sigh* I guess I should put the top up. *Stares at Sara before dramatically reaching for the lever to pull the top up*
Sara: *Sighhhhhhhhhhhh* Fiiiiiiiiiiiiiiine. We can ride to the church with the top down. Even though I’m in a dress. And even though my hair is so perfectly curled. And even though it is cold outside and looks like it’s going to rain.
Peter: OK! *gets in the car smiling like an idiot.*
Two seconds down Mohawk Road, I realized that it was a MISTAKE. Because when we got to the church, my hair was SO knotted and tangled and my dress was wrinkled and I looked like a disaster. But Peter was happy, so that’s all that matters… Right?
The car air conditioner
Last August I thought that maybe my car wasn’t quite as cool as I would have liked in the hot summer sun. Since we’ve only had mmmm TWO warm days SINCE last August, I didn’t REALLY realize that the air conditioning wasn’t actually cold… At all…
Turns out that I should have probably had that looked at. Because when Peter and I were driving to Lake Geneva on Friday evening, I asked him if the AC was working, and he said yes… And then he said no when he stuck his hand out the window.
On Monday, it was HOT outside. And guess how long we were in the car. FOUR HOURS. So, my right arm is quite sunburned. The rest of my body remains pasty white.
The dog post
Biggest mistake that I’ve made in a while… Writing that STUPID blog post about how I would maybe consider possibly THINKING about owning a dog in the far, far, FAR off future. Because now Peter goes around telling people that I “want” a dog, and if we go to someone’s house and they have a Cavalier King Charles, he says, “Sar! They have the kind of dog that you want!!” And THEN he gets ALLLLL mad and huffy when I say, “NO. I do not ‘want’ this kind of dog. I do not ‘want’ ANY kind of dog. I do not ‘like’ this dog, or any other dog, either.”
These little episodes usually end in him saying, “I KNOW you said you WANTED a dog” and me crossing my arms and saying, “You must use selective hearing when I talk about the fictitious dog Ruby.”
This is what I say: Peter. I do not like dogs. You knew this when you started dating me. You CHOSE to still date me. I did not force you to date me. I do not WANT a dog. I do not like dogs. You are a dog person. I am not a dog person. This is the one imperfection of our relationship. If you get me a dog for my birthday, I will be soooooooooooooooo mad. I will not even pretend to be happy.
THIS is what Peter hears: Peter. I
do not like dogs. You knew this when you started dating me. You CHOSE to still date me. I did not force you to date me. I do not WANT a dog. I do not like dogs. You are a dog person. I am not a dog person. This is the one imperfection of our relationship. If you get me a dog for my birthday, I will be soooooooooooooooo mad. I will not even pretend to be happy.
Did I ever actually SAY that I WANTED a DOG?? EVER?????
Now I have to go back and
edit read that post to make sure that I’m not contradicting myself here.
For the love.