I was really hoping to write my post on my husband’s new fancy pants Mac.  It has this huge screen and it’s sitting on our kitchen table which is higher than a normal desk so when you type, you look up at the screen.  And since it’s new and shiny and enormous it makes whatever you are doing look grand and important.

I thought it would be cool to write my post on it so whatever I wrote would be grand and important as well, but apparently someone didn’t get the sharing memo.   This means I’m relegated to the mediocre laptop with the run of the mill processing speed, lackluster memory, and adequate screen size.  Now my writing will be steeped in mediocrity which I will blame entirely on my husband and his seagull like “mine” syndrome.

Those of you who know my husband are aware of his outward, some might say gruff, demeanor.  A scowling man, not to be bothered with girly ideas and frivolities.  A man who prides himself on not knowing the latest pop songs, chick-lit authors, or fashion trends. 

That said, and in light of his only-child, take my ball and go home attitude, I give to you…

The REAL Zachary Forrest: Exhibit A.

Friday night:  Huge sighs of relief because Zach didn’t get laid off…woo hoo!  Nor did our friend Ryan, another woo hoo.  Zach went to play poker with some work friends, but I opted out.  I’m not much for poker, it takes too long.  I mean one hand or a few hands are fine but people keep playing over and over again and I just get bored. 

I tried to play with my family once, including my poker Nazi of a sister, and I just got myself in trouble.  I kept yelling out in my best white trash voice Turn it and Burn it BABY and then I channeled Emeril and would throw my chips in the pile and yell out BAM!

So no, I didn’t think it would be good idea for me to play with people who aren’t contractually obligated to love me. 

I watched some mind numbing TV and tried to stay awake until he came home.  Well, here’s where it gets ugly.  There’s a strange vortex you can slip into when watching TV at midnight on a Friday, and I’m not afraid to tell you, I slipped…slipped but good my friends.

My husband came home to a red-eyed, dazed wife mumbling Look babe, these comfortable jeans come in blue and black and are in four easy payments, and I better not wait because they are selling out fast.  And look, coming up is the blazer that completes the outfit.

Yes friends, I was watching QVC.  In my defense, there was really nothing else on and it said Denim and Co with Clinton Kelly, and hello, I love Clinton Kelly.  So I didn’t see the harm in just taking a peek, a gander if you will, at what my good ole’ friend Clinton had going on. 

Well, jeans led to skirts, and skirts led to a leather jacket, and what’s a jacket without the perfect t-shirt in two colors and 6 sizes (did you know they go up to 3X at QVC but don’t usually have smalls) and then there was a blazer, and then there were dress pants. 

And as I’m debating the merits of a blazer in peacock blue with sides that cinch for a tapered look no matter what my waist size, Zach comes home and says, why are you still up?  How come your eyes are bloodshot?  What are you…DEAR GOD ,IS THAT QVC?

The look of horror and shame on his face, it makes me shudder just to remember it. And then I realize what I’m doing and how some Texan would have said, “Well, bless her heart, she was so excited to wear her Clinton Kelly jeans from the QVC.”  What was I thinking?  How could I have fallen so far, so quickly.  And as I’m  about to be stuck in my own shame spiral, my husband gives me a reason to smile.

The initial shock has worn off and he’s starting to wonder if I’ve permanently become “that girl,” the girl who has to have the debit card taken away because of the last time she bought the 12 step skin care set on automatic delivery so you’ll never run out, or if maybe this is a blip and if he doesn’t leave me alone on Friday nights and he puts a parental block on the QVC channel, if maybe I’ll come through this all right.

So I can see him processing this, as he takes deliberate steps into the living room and removes the remote control from my hands.  He lowers himself to sit next to me on the couch and as he looks more closely he says, 

Is that Clinton?  Where’s Stacy?

Oh, how the mighty have fallen.