Another Week of Suburban Life

Long ago, Lindz and I came to grips with the fact that we have what most would consider a mundane life. I must point out that, for the most part, we like it. We just got back from the Sawmill Taproom. We have come to enjoy having dinner and some beers while we do the crossword puzzle on the deck. That is what we do for excitement. We like it.

Earlier today, when it was truly beastly hot, we wandered our separate ways in stores of our choosing (stores which are air-conditioned to lower temperatures that we're willing to pay for at home). Lindz went to Home Depot to get some paint for the guest room, and I went to Crabtree Valley Mall to look at kitchen gadgets at Crate and Barrel and Williams Sonoma. Let me just tell you, folks, I got a couple of basic white oval serving platters and some colorful dishtowels (involving orange in the patterns) at rock bottom prices. SCORE, BABY! I scope out the sales and go in for the kill. That's weekend excitement.

Before that, we had spent some time removing English Ivy from our back yard. Incredible stuff. If they planted it over tectonic faultlines, there would be no more earthquakes. It's an impenetrable tangle of opportunistic evil. Anyway, after we spent at least an hour and a half chopping, pulling and digging, we were drenched in sweat. In other periods of my life, I never would have thought that a man and a woman would expend so much effort on anything but sex or divorce proceedings. We found it quite satisfying, however, and it gave us a lighthearted sense of entitlement to our not-so-healthy dinner.

Going further backward in time to a television show the other night, Lindz and I were sucked into a show called "Hooking Up" (yet another peanut-encrusted turd of a reality show). It shows people dating in New York City, with the goal of meeting relationship-worthy mates. Of course, they're all fucked-up people in a fucked-up environment with drama added to make it into a show. Lindz and I were particularly affectionate after seeing it, having been reminded how wonderful it is to not be dating. I suppose it's a character-building experience, but dating does not result in anything but heartache.

So I made pancakes for my wife this morning. I didn't make pancakes for some chick who I hope likes me, nor did I make pancakes for someone who's shopping around and merely hanging out with me to fill a space that would otherwise be empty. This was after we took a walk around the lake. At the end of the walk, I didn't have to try and read her mind in order to decide how to ask, "So, can I call you sometime?" You don't make pancakes for people who are your mindgame opponents.