Part 1: Springsteen

Marriage is comprised of one-third rational decision-making and two-thirds nodding, agreeing, and doing your own thing anyway. (In my world, at least.) Chris reminds me of a particular example of the latter for Jeff and I: the music of Bruce Springsteen. It's not a simple case of either getting it or not getting it; Jeff just really isn't bowled over by Springsteen's singing style, and that negative opinion makes Springsteen's music uninteresting to Jeff.

Or, as I said to Chris a moment or two later:

We've gotta work on this truth-in-advertising thing. Sure, who hasn't heard that chocolate is bad for you? Rots your teeth, fattens your ass, puts the thunder in your thighs? Sure, we've got it. We ignore it every time we buy a candy bar.

However, in all those PSAs, parental lectures, and root canals, has anyone ever said to you "Stay away from that nasty chocolate or you'll get a one-inch gash on your left thumb?" Don't think so.

Yes, ladies and gentlemen, I am the only person I know who has shed blood over a Sunday morning chocolate craving.I have also, however, managed to prove yet again that the severity of my injuries can be determined by the amount and hue of my swearing just after the injury is sustained. Torrents of colorful and inventive invective can mean only one thing: paper cut.

For some reason, the breaking of bones or the flagrant spouting of blood makes me completely forget how to swear.

(What is the game of 'seven words'? See this entry for explanations, or to contribute potential words.)

I swung right, heading south, marveling at the darkness as the fog gobbled the neighborhood in front of me. The cars slid past, pointing their trumpet bells of light up and out, lighting little except the raindrops splattering their windshields.

Tsk. Can't be having this, folks. Those silly referer logs; they tell me when you're linking to my site. Next thing you know I'll be thinking that the referers mean that someone's actually reading this site, and if I thought that, then I'd feel infinitely more guilty about not posting many updates.

Oh, wait. I already feel guilty.So, yes. I'll tell you a story, see, and you'll all (all three of you!) feel better, having gotten your fix for the day.

We stared down the aisle of jarred spaghetti sauces. "Well, if you don't mind my asking, what does squashing insects have to do with whether or not you cook dinner?" We exchanged looks—I, the look of blinding obviousness; he, the look of complete confusion—for a few moments before comprehension dawned.

"Oh. You mean squashing bugs in code. Ok, I get you now."

Soon: sneak out early, as the light creeps over the horizon, to steal away in a little silver car and chase the sun as it sprints its way across the sky.

Destination: I wouldn't call it unknown, but I'd also not call it common knowledge. We'll take our shorts and our ballcaps, and pack CDs for the CD player. We'll take our new copy of 'Settlers of Catan' and perhaps a book or two. We'll steal away, just for a few days. Jeff's going to catch up on his sleep. I'm going to work on my sunburn. (Ooop! Must not forget sunblock!)