The Lawsons did Dallas!

The King of Recreation
May 16, 2007

My husband Jared is the self proclaimed 'King of Recreation.' Subsequently, I am the self proclaimed 'Queen of Walking the Dog and Taking Care of James All By Myself While My Husband Takes Fishing Trips.' Jared is actually taking a trip this week. To Oklahoma. For four days.

I don't mind these fishing trips so much--after all, I like a little bit of time to myself. I eat chocolate at every meal, spend money from the secret account that Jared will never know about, and watch way more TV than I would ever, ever admit. What I don't like this time is the length of the trip--four days. That's like 8 trips up and down the stairs with a dog and a stroller, by myself; 85 binky meltdowns, by myself; 20 zillion diaper changes, by myself; and 3 night of sleeping, by myself.

I tried to talk him down on the length of this trip last night before we went to bed, but the man simply wouldn't budge. I tried logic, I tried a guilt trip, I tried empty threats. He wouldn't have any of it, all he wanted to talk about was his camping menu--and just how anxious he was to consume the array of brand new condiments that was so lovinging displayed on our kitchen table. In a last ditch moment of desperation, I began to rattle of my list of hopes and wishes.

I was like, "Well, I see that you're not going to compromise on this one, Jared. In that case..."

• I hope you get attacked by a wicked angry mob of mosquitoes.
• I hope a raccoon pees in your cooler--two times.
• I hope you forget to pack toilet paper and get a roaring case of the squirts.
• I hope a bird poops on your bottom lip while you are deep in thought.
• I hope you pee in your waders.
• I hope you get so sweaty that you have to peel your schnuts off your thigh each night.
• I hope you catch every genus and species of marine animal except a fish.
• I hope all of your eyelashes fall out at the same time.
• I hope one of your fishing buddies makes an unexpected pass at you.
• And I hope the people at the campsite next to you have an unyielding passion for loud, gangsta rap music.

There were a bunch more, too. I rattled them off with ease, becoming more and more inflamed with each new addition to the list. Somehow, he didn't take any of my hopes to heart, and fell asleep right in the middle of my dramatic soliloquy. Whatever.

But you know? When I really stop to think about it, I mostly hope that he catches the biggest trout of his entire life, I hope he laughs with his buddies until he pees himself [sidenote: I still wouldn't mind if this happened in his waders], and I hope he misses me the entire time. Oh, but don't tell him I said that, ok?