Category Archives: Marriage
12 years ago, I married Cap’n Izzy Firepants in a beautiful ceremony on his pirate ship, attended by about 100 of our closest loved ones.
About 15 years ago, I met Cap’n Firepants when we were introduced by a friend. At least, that is the way I usually tell the story. At our wedding ceremony, his First Mate, during the toast, decided to give a few more details about the way we met:
“Mistresses and Marauders, today we toast the wedding of Mr. and Mrs. Cap’n Firepants. I must admit, I never thought this day would come. When Izzy called me, and told me he had picked up a girl at a bar, I almost fell out of my crow’s nest. When he told me he was dating this girl, I -”
Well, I don’t really remember the rest of the toast. Sitting at the Head Table, and watching all of the eyebrows go up, all I could think of was that the Cap’n’s First Mate needed to walk off a plank – about 40 stories high, and in dry dock.
The truth is actually a combination of both stories. We were introduced by a friend. And we did happen to be at a bar at the time. Here is what really happened:
My fellow teacher and his girlfriend were determined to find me a new boyfriend that night. I had recently broken up with someone who was a bit volatile, so my fellow teacher said, “We’re going to find you a nice guy tonight.”
I don’t know if you’ve ever noticed, but it’s a bit difficult sometimes to determine if a perfect stranger is a nice guy. My friend, however, being a guy, felt that he was a good judge of male character.
As we relaxed at a table outside, my friend spotted a few people, who I immediately nixed – based on the fact that they were obviously trolling for women. Then, my friend’s eyes landed on Cap’n Firepants.
“Look at him, sitting with those other guys over there. He looks like a nice guy.”
And I agreed. Maybe it was the eyepatch. Or the parrot on his shoulder. But nothing happened. My “Come over here and introduce yourself” magnet did not appear to be working on nice guys who were pirates that night.
After five beers, my friend went inside to, uh, make room for more beer. At the inside bar, he passed Cap’n Firepants, and said, “The girl sitting with me is interested in you.”
Here, the stories diverge. No one seems to remember if Cap’n Firepants said, “Oh, the girl in the red dress?” or “Which girl?” And things could have gotten a bit hairy as we were sitting with two other women, one of which, as I’ve mentioned, was my friend’s girlfriend.
Regardless, Cap’n Firepants and one of his friends (not the loquacious First Mate) came to sit at our table. And my friend introduced us. So, technically, I’m not lying when I say that a friend introduced us. The facts that he was my friend, not the Cap’n’s, and that he didn’t even know the Cap’n’s name when he introduced us, and that we had all had a few alcoholic drinks, are trivial parts of the story with which I don’t usually feel the need to bore people.
So, we spent the rest of the evening chatting. Actually, the Cap’n’s friend and I chatted. We had both lived in New Jersey and had both gone to Barry Manilow concerts when we were kids. It is very rare, in Texas, to find someone else who was subjected to Barry Manilow and agrees with you that New Jersey has some very nice parts that look nothing like the movie depictions of inner city gang war zones.
The Cap’n had very little to say during all of this. Which I erroneously attributed to the fact that he had no interest in a former Yankee who knows all of the words to “I Write the Songs”. And, yet, when we closed the bar down, he insisted on walking me to my car, and finally said the most important thing I had heard all night.
“Can I have your number?”
So, we went on a date the very next evening. And he almost died in a vicious attack. But that story is for tomorrow…
I got a blow-out at the hair salon the other day. Loved it. (Blow-out, dirty-minded people.)
So, I decided to replicate the procedure at home. 45 minutes later, I finished, and marched out into the living room to show my blown-out bombshell self to the family.
Cap’n Firepants smiled that “I love you so much, you sexy lady” smile and came up and kissed me.
“So, you decided to go with the frizzy look today?” he whispered in my ear.
And this is where I am going to give you the Secret to a Good Marriage – The Not Large Caucasian Exaggeration (the politically correct version of The Little White Lie).
Novices might think that Cap’n Firepants should never have said that my hair looked frizzy. BUT THAT WOULD BE WRONG.
Novices might think I should be mad at Cap’n Firepants for calling my hair frizzy. AND THAT WOULD BE RIGHT.
Novices might think I should tell Cap’n Firepants off for calling my hair frizzy. AND THAT WOULD BE RIGHT – BUT NOT RIGHT NOW.
“No, I’m not finished with it yet. Just heating up the flat iron,” I said, sweetly. (Not Large Caucasian Exaggeration – I was heating up, just not heating up the flat iron.)
Here’s why this carefully chosen Exaggeration was important: Because I like Cap’n Firepants telling me the truth so I don’t look like an idiot when I go out in public. And if I get hopping’ mad at Cap’n Firepants for telling me the truth, then he will stop telling me the truth. So, I act like I appreciate his candidness, and suck up my hurt feelings until later.
“For crying out loud, Cap’n Firepants, how many times do I have to ask you to STOP EATING ALL OF THE ICE CREAM? IS THIS YOUR WAY OF SAYING YOU WANT A DIVORCE?!!!”
This has two positive results – I get to finally release my anger about the frizzy hair comment, and he will buy more ice cream the next time he goes to the store.
It’s a win/win situation.
The Not Large Caucasian Exaggeration – no marriage can survive without it.
No one else you know has acquired as many mattresses as we have in the last three months. No one. Unless you know someone who is building a new hotel or fairytale castle or something.
First, we got the smelly mattress.
Which we replaced with the killer mattress.
Then we prematurely inherited 2 sets of Very Old Mattresses along with their antique beds.
So, we decided we should probably replace the Very Old Mattresses. Because, according to the mattress commercials we will either be suffocated by dust mites or get fat if we use them.
Then, I decided to replace the killer mattress.
“Hello. Yes, remember me? We bought a mattress from you, and then it smelled, and then you gave us a different model. And then it tried to paralyze my husband.”
“Oh. That’s too bad.”
“So, we want the first mattress back. But we don’t want that one back. Because it smelled. But can you get us another one that is the same model, but doesn’t smell?”
“Well, that model has been discontinued. But I’ll see what I can do.”
Four hours later…
“Well, it turns out there are only 3 of those mattresses left in the whole United States. And one of them is in Austin. But Austin does not transfer to the San Antonio store. So, here’s what I’m going to do. I’m going to a meeting in Austin next week. I’ll put the mattress in my big truck, and bring it to San Marcos. San Marcos will transfer it to our warehouse in San Antonio, and then our guys can deliver it to you.”
“Wow. That’s really great! And it’s not the one we returned, right?”
So, I call Cap’n Firepants to deliver the great news.
“…and, he’s going to fly it in from a private island off the coast of South America, and carry it on his back to San Antonio, and then a chariot pulled by 100 armadillos will bring it to our house,” I slightly exaggerated. “Isn’t that great?” I ask.
“You liked that mattress, right? It was just the smell we couldn’t handle.”
“It was… okay.”
“I’m going to kill you.”
“This all comes from having a husband who has a sketchy history with lizards.” This is what I was thinking Sunday night when I was in the middle of risking my life on the mean streets of Boston.
My day started early in the a.m when I started getting ready for my trip to Boston.
In the middle of my shower, I decided I should shave my legs in case my plane crashed. Then, I told myself that I needed to remember to pack a razor. Then I put my foot on my little teak table in my shower. And then I bent down and was face to face with a lizard.
I am not freaked out by lizards – though it is somewhat disconcerting to find one in my shower. I responded to this surprise visit by finishing my business, and then grabbing Cap’n Firepants’ phone from his bedside table so I could take a picture.
“Whadrudoin?” the Cap’n sleepily asked.
“Documenting the lizard in our shower.”
It’s a testament to Cap’n Firepants that he did not ask any follow up questions.
A few minutes later, the Cap’n got up to take his shower.
“Where is the lizard?” he asked.
“Why?” I said, cautiously. Actually, I think I said, “Why? Don’t you dare kill him. He’s cute.” The Cap’n and I differ on the treatment of varmint trespassers. He likes to squish them under his foot, while I generally pick them up and take them outside.
“So I don’t step on him by accident,” he responded, to my relief.
The point of this whole story is that I completely forgot to pack my razor, due to my fear that Cap’n Firepants might squish the unfortunate lizard in our shower. This is what I realized when I reached my Boston hotel later that evening after my exciting adventures barely evading the law for flying under an assumed name that wasn’t even my choice to assume in the first place. (See yesterday’s post for that fun story.)
So I decided to make a trek around 8:30 at night to the local CVS pharmacy.
I don’t think I’ve mentioned before that I completely lack any kind of map-reading skills, night sight, or sense of direction. Or common sense.
Oh, and I was alone.
Of course I went 10 blocks in the wrong direction at the beginning of my trek. But I finally found the CVS with the help of the good people of Harvard Square.
There were some decidedly unacademic looking people hanging out at the CVS.
Quite a few seemed to be having an attack of the munchies.
But I made it back to the hotel safe and sound, and confident in the fact that I would have smooth legs during my first day on the Harvard campus.
Now I am going to include a picture of the lizard and, in retrospect, it really wasn’t worth risking my life to take. I am telling you this now because I don’t know how to make captions on my pics using the WordPress iPad app.
Cap’n Firepants wants to divorce me. I would like to file the legal papers first, but I’m in that week of the month when I don’t allow myself to make any major decisions or sign legal documents.
Of course, he hasn’t actually come out and said that he is planning to divorce me. But I know he is.
Because he unplugged my flat iron.
At first, I thought this was a great reason for me to head down to the court house and start my own proceedings. But, then I realized that there was a message there. And, it was not, “I’m going to drive you crazy by doing things that will make you divorce me.” Instead, if you really read between the lines, it was, “This girls is going nuts, but it’s useless to even tell her, so I will just pretend everything is fine and slap her with papers when she least expects it.”
You see, I knew the flat iron was still on and plugged in. But Cap’n Firepants did not know I knew. But, instead of yelling to me, “Hey, did you mean to leave your flat iron plugged in?” he just assumed that I did not know because I must be losing it, and unplugged it.
Naive people might believe that he was being kind by not mentioning to me that I forgot to unplug the iron, which, by the way, I DID NOT FORGET, but I know the truth.
I confronted Cap’n Firepants with this information.
“Oh, I didn’t tell you?” he said, feigning ignorance.
“No, you didn’t. And I am pretty certain this is your subtle way of saying that you want a divorce.”
He laughed. And then he said, I KID YOU NOT, “Do you mean all of the other subtle ways didn’t tell you that?”
I can’t wait until my moratorium week is over.
When I married Cap’n Firepants, I did not realize that there was an extra bonus to this relationship – he enjoys grocery shopping.
I hate grocery shopping. Despise it. It bores the heck out of me and the store is always freezing and it depresses me to spend all of that money on food instead of a good pair of shoes.
So, Cap’n Firepants does our household shopping.
We used to have a pretty good system using an app on both of our phones that allowed us to add to the list. But then we started getting out of sync with each other and one person would have the list finished and the other person would delete it because
he/she I thought it was the list from last week. And then someone would be a bit upset. So then someone else stopped adding things to the list.
Cap’n Firepants likes to shop early on weekend mornings. When I am still asleep. Before he leaves, our conversation goes like this:
“I’m leaving for the store.”
I have a pillow over my head and vaguely hear something. He taps me on my shoulder. I whip the pillow off.
“I’m leaving,” he repeats.
I slowly focus on what he is saying. “Peach Propel,” I say, and put the pillow back over my head.
I am here to tell you that this method does not work very well.
The Cap’n does get the one thing I managed to voice before he left. And the other things that we always get. But, then, he goes off the reservation. And starts buying things that he hasn’t bought in awhile, thinking that we must surely be out of them since he hasn’t bought them in awhile. It does not occur to him that he has not bought them in awhile because we still have a huge stock of them and don’t need any more.
This is why we have 4 packages of hot dogs in our refrigerator, 3 bottles of Miralax in our medicine cabinet, and 5 thousand packages of shredded cheddar cheese.
It has occurred to me that the solution to this problem is to make a Don’t Buy This Ever Again, or at Least in the Foreseeable Future List. It would include:
- hot dogs
- cheddar cheese
- anything you expect me to cook that does not have directions on the package
But then I would have to maintain that list. And, eventually, I will want one of the things on that list, and then we will have a fight over which list is the list of things to buy and which is the list of things to avoid. And then Cap’n Firepants might decide to put me on a list – of People He No Longer Shops For.
And that would be a disaster for the entire Firepants household. Because a house without hot dogs or Miralax and with 5 thousand bags of cheddar cheese is not a house you want to enter. Trust me.
The way we usually plan a date:
“Hey, Dimples got invited to a friend’s house tonight. Want to go out?”
we I planned last Friday’s date:
“Hey, Dimples apparently lost all of her friends, which I’m sure has nothing to do with the fact that we have spent our summer battling smelly mattresses, so I guess we need to hire a babysitter if we ever want to be alone with each other again. Want to go out?”
The way our date went:
By 8:30, we were done with dinner. It was a fine meal. Just the two of us in a booth beside a bar filled with hundreds of vivacious people who did not get my memo about my plans to be alone with Cap’n Firepants.
“What are we going to do now?” Cap’n Firepants asked me as he set down his fork. He read out available movies from his phone, and I shook my head.
“We could just go home,” I suggested. I had already bombarded him with every topic that I could think of that could not be discussed in front of Dimples or at 10:00 at night when I am busy “studying” The Daily Show in order to better understand the fine points of comedic timing. So, I had accomplished my agenda for the evening.
The problem with having a babysitter is that
you we find it a tad embarrassing to arrive home when it’s still daylight. Even though it would save us money and the babysitter would be thrilled to go home and get ready for a “real” night on the town.
“Let’s go get coffee,” Cap’n Firepants suggested.
I spent 15 minutes trying to persuade him to try a new local coffee place by our house. It took 15 minutes to drive there. It was closed.
“We could try the Starbucks on Blanco,” I said.
“That’s a drive-thru.”
“No, the one on the other side. It’s sit-down.”
“There’s one on the other side?”
“How did I not know there was one on the other side?”
“I don’t know.”
So, we drove there. It was closed, too.
So, we drove back past the local one that was closed to a Starbucks a bit farther that was open.
We were home by 10. It was dark outside, but I got the feeling that the babysitter was not impressed by our fortitude. Fortunately, she did not seem to suspect that we spent half the evening driving around and trying to think of something to do so we wouldn’t look lame.
The way our dates usually go if they are t0o close together:
The next day, Dimples got invited to a friend’s house.
We didn’t even go through the motions of a date. I walked through the living room. Cap’n Firepants was watching The Matrix. He has watched this 967.34 times. I did not care to watch it again.
“Want to watch the new Sherlock Holmes movie?” I asked.
“There’s a new one? Did we ever see the first one?”
“How did I not remember that?”
“I don’t know.”
“Is it PG-13?”
“Why? Are you afraid it’s going to give you nightmares?”
I get a glare.
“Why don’t you just keep watching The Matrix?” I suggested.
At least that date was cheaper.
Regarding yesterday’s post, “Murder by Mattress“, my husband, Cap’n Firepants, insists that I must be the one trying to kill him – considering that the mattress seems to be more harmful to his health than mine.
“If I wanted to kill you, I would find a much faster way to do it than making you sleep on a mattress that makes you walk crooked for 10 years,” was my reply. I decided not to list the dozen alternative ways that immediately come to mind for expediting someone’s death. I don’t want him to become paranoid or anything.
I stand by my original theory that he is out to get me – not the other way around.
I figure that, before my untimely demise, I should probably give out the award I promised for the Most Creative Way to Use a Cannonball. Although there were many viable entries, I decided to go with El Guapo because he gave me a whopping total of 5 ideas. This is what he came up with:
-Attach a chain to it. whenever you or Cap’n have to be somewhere and the other can’t make it, bring it as the old ball and chain
-Put it in a cannon on the lawn and point it conspicuously at the annoying neighbor du jour
-If there are any markings on it, you might be able to track down some information on it
-Hang it in the school yard for bad-child tetherball
-Paint it like a balloon and use it for your delightful “lead balloon” comedy/variety show
This leads me to jump to some not-so-obvious conclusions about Guap:
- He has much experience with cannonballs
- He has not lived next to our annoying neighbors, who would not be even the slightest bit cowed by such a subtle hint as a cannon aimed at their abode
- He wants me to get sued
- He really wants the prize that I offered
I am going to assume that it was the last one, because the “I Wonderbutt, Do You?” award is highly coveted and very rare.
So, here you go, Guap. Take good care of it.
(I won’t tell you which of Guap’s suggestions I am going to take, but I will tell you that our neighbors, the Clampetts, are, at this moment, making a heckuva lot of noise – and eBay’s cannon listings will be my next stop after publishing this post.)
Cap’n Firepants is trying to kill me. And he is quite devious about it. He acts like he loves me and wants the best for me. But he is really plotting my demise.
After finally getting our mildew mattress exchanged for a mattress of better quality and NO MILDEW smell, my husband began to implement his Plot to Kill His Wife Slowly By Making Her Brain Implode.
“The new mattress doesn’t smell.”
“Yeah, isn’t it great?”
“But it feels like the old mattress. Not the mildew one. The other one.”
Oh God. The mattress that had a cave-in. The one that was destroying his back so badly that he started sleeping in the other room so he could walk each day without looking like the Hunchback of San Antonio.
“But how can this be? You tested it in the store. It’s supposed to be just like the first model – but better! It even feels firmer to me than the last one.”
“Not to me.”
“Are you insane? IT IS FINE! IT’S BETTER! IT DOESN’T SMELL!”
“It’s not better to me.”
I am reporting him for spousal abuse.
My husband, the Honorable Cap’n Firepants, has suffered much humiliation at the paws of my pets over the years. How he handles this is exactly why I love him.
On our first date, my dog of the moment tried to rip out Cap’n Firepants’ throat. The Cap’n brought me home from a movie, and I invited him inside for a minute. That is when Cujo leapt on the Cap’n with open jaws aimed straight at his larynx. I grabbed the collar and yanked Cujo off the Cap’n, who mumbled something about, “Maybe some other time,” and made a quick exit. After the door closed, I threw myself down on the sofa in absolute despair of ever being able to date again.
The next day, the Cap’n sent me roses, and invited me on another date.
Over time, the Cap’n was able to slowly make friends with my ferocious dog, and even ended up pet-sitting for me for 3 weeks when I went to Japan. And, despite the fact that my dog was completely insane and ended up on Prozac, the Cap’n eventually proposed to me. (Of course, some of you might think, and I would agree, that the bigger miracle is that he did this despite the fact that I am completely insane and on Prozac.)
That dog is long gone. But now we have Wonderbutt. And the Cap’n and Wonderbutt have a tenuous relationship that waxes and wanes on a daily basis. Mostly wanes.
The other night, the Cap’n was sitting on one of our new sofas, watching t.v., and Wonderbutt plopped down in front of him, staring at him with soulful eyes. (Wonderbutt is not allowed on the new couches, and if you question this rule, you might want to look at a few of the reasons why here and here. I would like to point out, though, the widget on my left sidebar that shows how long our new furniture has made it chew-free.)
After the Cap’n ignored Wonderbutt for a few minutes, the dog began to whimper. This is what he does to me at night when I am in his favorite chair.
The Cap’n has a soft heart. He bent down to Wonderbutt’s sweet face to gently tell him that he is not allowed on the couch.
And Wonderbutt belched the loudest, jowl-lifting, house-vibrating belch ever emitted by a mammal on this planet. Right in Cap’n Firepants’ face.
Back in the Forbidden Section of our house, I felt the earthquake, but did not know its source. But, I did hear Cap’n Firepants’ response to Wonderbutt’s in-your-face insult.