Tuesday, March 3, 2009

When is it considered TMI?

My Dear Hubby calls me every day at lunchtime.  Yeah, I know, it's sweet.  Well, I think it's sweet until I really start to analyze and remember all of the arguing we had over him getting a cell phone to begin with.  His "I'll never, ever carry it" attitude.  His snide comments about "even more money" going out the window on a monthly basis.  His "I won't even know how to use it" antics.  Grrr!  Now he gets twice as many calls and three times more text messages than I do!  Damn men!  Man.  Whatever.  But then I start to think about all the texts he sends me just to say hi or he misses me or he loves me.  And I think about the calls at lunchtime and then I get all mushy brained and romantic feeling because I have this husband that actually cares.  *sigh* 

Oh, I am pretty sure that isn't the point of this post. 

So, let me get to the point.  Or at least edge my way a bit closer. 

Today, Dear Hubby called just like always.  He's heading to the bank to make a deposit before he rushes home to grab a bite to eat and heads back to work. 

I bombard him with news on Little Sis.  They've made it to Italy.  Their luggage didn't arrive with them.  They have no change of clothes.  Her husband had to sign in on post (Army) to get them a hotel room and they made him actually go to work.  Yes!  On the same day they arrived!  Hotel has windows that won't close or she can't figure out how to close and a heater that she must keep baby away from.

He tells me about the kids' dentist appointments this morning.  Both got a cleaning.  Both got a Flouride treatment (the cheap one and not the expensive last-longer one).  Teensy saw the dentist...has a few cavities but teeth look good.  Bubba needs to brush better.  Bubba has a follow-up appointment to take care of a filling (I tell him).  Teensy will need another appointment but I will need to call and schedule it. 

All in all, a normal conversation for a lunch hour (well, minus the occasional bitching about a passive aggressive nuisance that shall remain nameless!).  And it is all wrapped up with "I love you" and "I may be home late" and click. 

I go out to bring in the mail. 

I come back in to realize my phone is vibrating on my desk.  I answer.  It's the Hubby.

"Talked to brother 2 the other day.  Cemetery plots by Mom and Dad's are set to go up in price and they are almost out of spaces to buy.  Family bought a bunch.  Brother 2 and wife, brother 1 and wife, sister...all got some.  Will hold some for us.  Do you want a cemetery plot, my dear?"  (Okay, so I paraphrased that a little bit but you get the point.)

Visualize this...I am standing in front of a bulletin board pulling tacks and Hubby asks me if I, a 28 year old, relatively healthy woman, would like to choose where I want to spend my dead days.  I am pretty sure that after my jaw hit the floor, I stuck a tack in my eye.  Blood spurted onto the bulletin board and I now have to remake all of the flyers on the computer using only the one eye that is not now covered in a pirate patch.

You're right.  *sigh*  I didn't.  What I did do was gasp in horror and try to squelch the rising panic attack at the thought that I will someday...eventually and hopefully when I am extremely old and fragile...die and at that time my family will need to know what to do with my body.  I. CAN'T. THINK. ABOUT. THAT. RIGHT. NOW!  *breathe in, breathe out*

I calmly and rationally tell Dear Hubby that I cannot and will not make such a decision today and that if he is certain that is where he wants to be buried then he should feel free to go ahead and purchase himself a plot.  *breathe in, breathe out*

Crises averted.  For today. 

I then, in retaliation for making me face my own mortality today, call him back to tell him about what happened on The Bachelor last night (even though we never watch that show and have only seen the few minutes where he told Melissa he didn't want her) and end the conversation with...

"And OMG!  Little Sis got her period today and bled all over the only pants she has with her!  What?  Why is that relevant?  Because she got her period at the same time that I did...on the other side of the world!  Isn't that neat?"

Do you think that was too much information?

3 comments:

AmyD said...

Hmmm.

This is the blogosphere, I don't think TMI exists anymore.

;)

The burial plot thing would have freaked me out because if it comes down to being interred eternally anywhere within spitting distance of my MIL I'll go for being cremated and dumped in the cat's litter box.

Lora said...

No such thing as TMI!
I don't like to think of things like burial plots either, but I do want to have it completely arranged just in case I get hit by a bus on the way home

J... said...

Amy...cat's litter box! Funny! I actually liked my MIL, she was a good seed.

Lora...Yeah I thought about that (and dying in a plane crash, and falling off a cliff...) but I think I will stay safely in the Land of Denial for a bit longer.