The Sweetest Day

 As the saying goes; Man plans, God laughs- and I'm so grateful because sometimes the most unexpected things turn into life's sweetest gifts.

Our 3rd child Kearstin has been a prime example of that from the very beginning. She was a surprise pregnancy during a hectic time in our life, when financially another baby wasn't what we planned, but God knew she was exactly what we needed. 

November, 1998- In the midst of chaos and a turmoil of emotions, we found out we were pregnant. It was the sweetest day.

It's impossible to fully describe, but at just under 32 weeks of my pregnancy, I felt deep in my soul that something wasn't right. For that entire weekend I told anyone who would listen that something wasn't right and on Monday morning I called the doctor and the receptionist was hesitant to move my appointment up a day. "You can feel her moving, but you can't wait one more day? I'm sure she's fine."

"NO I canNOT wait because she's NOT fine because SOMETHING isn't RIGHT!" 

They finally agreed to bump my appt up from Wednesday to Tuesday, even though I could tell they thought I sounded like a lunatic. 

The following day, when the ultrasound showed her tiny body completely still except a slowly beating heart, I was taken for an emergency c-section and they prepared us for the worst. When they pulled her out, she was snow white and not moving and the room was completely silent. They rushed her out of my sight and I lay there trying to grasp the horrible silence until it was broken by her tiny cries followed by the doctor who was sewing me closed saying, "My God. That's a miracle."

May 25th, 1999- In the midst of chaos and a turmoil of emotions, our miracle arrived and changed my world forever. It was the sweetest day.

Fast forward to July 15th, 2021- In the Dominican Republic, during pandemic chaos and a turmoil of emotions, my tiny miracle, who'd grown into a beautiful princess, got engaged to her high school sweetheart, Trevor. It was the sweetest day.

From the very beginning, she and I have had an inexplicable borderline scary connection and it's only gotten stronger with each passing year. It's almost like that twin telepathy thing except I birthed her and we're not telepathic, so probably not the same at all. But the planning of her non-traditional rustic glam wedding brought us even closer.

The day we went dress shopping, she chose for herself a princess pink wedding dress and a burgundy dress to match the bridesmaids for me.

She asked me to join her dad walking her down the aisle to give her away and included me with the girls for her Bachelorette weekend in a cabin...I mentioned non-traditional, right?

Speaking of non-traditional...while she and Trevor were excitedly choreographing their beautiful first dance together, she and I were secretly choreographing the father/daughter dance...aka; 38 seconds of slow dancing with her dad to Bob Carlisle's Butterfly Kisses turned into 3 and a half minutes of our entire family crashing the dance floor to Missy Elliott's We Run This, because what else would you expect from us?

The year of planning flew by in a blur.

The morning of the big day, her only rule was clear: "If anything goes wrong today, I don't want to be told about any of it."

Remember that time back in 2014 when I described how smoothly Aubrey's wedding went? 

Well. Grab a margarita, cuz in true Kearstin's-entire-life-history fashion- we planned, God laughed, and here's how her wedding went down.

If the wind blowing the isle runner away during setup, not having enough chair covers for the ceremony, and the bride's dad breaking her only rule by calling her to let her know about both of those issues was the biggest thing that went wrong, I wouldn't need the margarita to write this. 

Oh, you thought I was telling you to grab a margarita? You're adorable.

Here comes the good stuff. Everything was fine until the pictures started, but have professional pictures ever gone smoothly for our family? Short answer- no. They always seem to end with Ron yelling at everyone to stop vomiting and threatening never to do family pictures again.

Refer back to Family Photo Day and A (Birth) Day In The Life  to refresh your memory and remind yourself why you read this blog to feel better about yourself. You're welcome. 

Photo by Graceful Beginnings

We were all dressed in our cute matching "get ready for the wedding jammies" when the pictures started, and as if on cue, Flower Girl #3 (Mahayla) vomited directly over the shoulder of Flower Girl #2 (Scarlet), sending Scarlet into hysterics and triggering everything you'd expect from 2 vomit covered 5 year olds running rampant amongst the bridal party. Screaming and gagging, to be specific.

By the looks on the photographer's faces, I'd say this was a first for them and when the videographer asked "should I keep rolling?" it was too much for me. 

Kearstin knowingly looked over at me and began loud-whisper-ordering "DO.NOT.PEE." 

She gets that from her dad. Like they think they can just order people to stop their bodily functions. 

Show of hands. How many people can say their mom peed her pants and wore no underwear throughout their entire wedding day? Just Kearstin? Weird.

Because, no. I didn't pack an extra pair of underwear to bring to the wedding. I'm not a toddler. And my wet undies (read favorite black thong) ended up in an empty USPS package with the hopes I wouldn't accidentally mail them off anywhere.

If you think that's where the story ends, your margarita isn't big enough.

Because then it was time to put me in my dress...meaning zip and lace up the corset back and criss cross and hook my spaghetti straps...and Kearstin was the only one who knew how to do it.

Did you catch that part about CRISS.CROSS.THE.STRAPS? That's important for a low cut dress requiring no bra. The criss cross pulls it tighter, providing more coverage and support.

For those keeping score of the Mother Of The Bride's attire at this wedding:

Underwear- 0

Bra- 0

People surprised by any of that- 0

Quick life lesson for the future: Never put the bride in charge of her mom's cleavage on her wedding day.

My dress felt loose and very...er, unsupportive. She tied me in again. Still the same. When I complained it was still loose, she said "I don't know! That's just the way it is!" 

I'm gonna remember that reply the next time she asks me why I pee my pants when I laugh.

When the bride, the bridesmaids, the ring bearer, and the 3 flower girls, who had moved past the vomiting crisis surprisingly fast, loaded into the mini-van driven by Zac, we realized Ron and I had nowhere to sit. So Zac popped open the trunk. And that's where we rode, with our feet hanging out the back, and the trunk door threatening to bounce off our heads for the 2 mile drive down the gravel road. 

By the time we arrived at the ceremony, we were covered in dirt and dust and after bouncing around in my dress the whole ride, it occurred to me that maybe my straps weren't criss crossed as Ron and I pounded each other off beside the van. 

Pounded the dirt off. Stop drinking and get yer heads outta the gutter.

One of the bridesmaids quickly fixed my straps and we walked our beaming princess toward her teary eyed prince where the minister asked the question- "Who gives this woman to marry this man?"

When he asked that question at rehearsal the night before, Ron panicked and answered, "That would be I." Hey Yoda, I'm standing here too and since when do you speak in Star Wars? 

We'd been practicing "Her mother and I" so I whispered it to him one last time and I'm happy to say he nailed it for his big moment in the spotlight.

Photo By Graceful Beginnings

The lakeside ceremony was beautiful and I think we were all crying when Trevor emotionally read the vows he'd written and then she read hers to him. 

I glanced over to see Scarlet laying across Mayhayla's lap who'd just vomited all over her an hour before and every horrible scenario flashed through my mind of the hell that would break loose with just one unfortunate heave, but I'm happy to report I don't have to write that. 

Collective sigh of relief because I would've been officially out of clothes to wear, we had a family dance coming, and the show must go on.

Photo by Graceful Beginnings

It was during pictures after the ceremony when I happened to glance down at the front of my husband's pants and gasped. It seems the Father of the Bride walked his daughter down the aisle with his man parts outlined in dirt from our ride down in the trunk of the van. (Zoom in if you dare- for the sake of this blog, I'm thrilled the photographer didn't edit that out, as are you I'm sure.)

It was almost our turn for pictures so I quickly tried to rub him off which, um...stimulated it's own set of problems and begs the question, which is worse in family wedding pictures? 

Cast your vote here.

The reception had a couple of complete disasters about it, but they were out of our family's control and as much as I'd love to spill the steaming puddle of tea so we can all shake our heads in disbelief together, I won't.

Photo by Graceful Beginnings

The only thing that matters is that on October 15th, 2022- In the midst of chaos and a turmoil of emotions...some projectile vomit, a little urine, excess cleavage, and one set of dusty balls- Kearstin married Trevor, the love of her life. And Sweetest Day became THE sweetest day.

Dear Trevor,

Welcome to our crazy family. After 7 years of dating, we probably come as no surprise to you anymore. Thank you for sticking around anyway. I cannot guarantee that we'll ever be "normal" or "traditional." As a matter of fact, I can guarantee you the exact opposite. But what I can promise you is that you've officially joined a tight family circle built on trust, loyalty, unconditional love, respect, and enough laughter to last you a lifetime. We're grateful that God led Kearstin to her person. And we happily welcome you into our tribe.  (Credit for our family slide show goes to Zac)

Photo by Graceful Beginnings

And now y'all know why Ron's hiding in the back. M'hm.

Poked & Choked

Quick life recap. Last fall, I started choking on meat.

And just like that, you're all caught up. 

(Click the link for the official back story.)

After I posted that blog, my helpful and knowledgable readers began suggesting I get my esophagus stretched, to which my reaction was 'absolutely not and let us never speak of this again' because having my esophagus stretched sounded worse than let's say, choking to death or something. Better the devil you know, ya know?

So I went on living as normal a life as possible for someone whose family no longer trusted leaving me alone in a room with a steak.

Then I went to my annual ob/gyn appointment and noting that I'm 50 she informed me that it's time for a routine colonoscopy screening, assuring me that I'd be under sedation during the entire thing. 

First of all, I see through your attempt at putting my mind at ease with your word "routine" madam. Second of all, Ron woke up in the middle of his first colonoscopy screening 5 years ago so let's not throw around assurances willy nilly. Consider yourself on notice. I'd hate to have to put you outside the circle of trust.

The problem arose when I mentioned refusing my screening and Ron thought that gave him a free pass to refuse his next one. Three weeks later we were both sitting in the colon doc waiting room angrily filling out our medical history forms. When he noticed I was done, he asked "Did you see the question about having trouble swallowing?" 

Let me ask you this. Did you ever hear about minding your own business? Or HIPPA? Or we're at a butt doctor so how does my swallowing apply here? 

The doctor was very nice, said he'd schedule me for a colonoscopy, and asked "Anything else?"

I replied, "Will I wake up in the middle of it, because (jerking my head toward Ron) he woke up during his"....and feeling Ron's stare burning into the side of my face, I casually threw in...."and sometimes he has to give me the Heimlich because I choke on meat, but that's probably not even relevant here." *awkward psh* "Right?"

After a brief silence he said, "That's not good. I'm glad you told me because I can help that." Me- "I didn't realize you work on both ends."

Somebody had to say it.

He made a note and told me he'd stretch my esophagus while I was under for the colonoscopy and again asked me, "Anything else?"

As I fought off mental images of me hovering over the surgical bed, slowly spinning like a hog on a rotisserie spit, I said "You'll use different scopes, right?"

He shouldn't ask "anything else" if he doesn't mean it.

He replied, "Oh yes. They're even completely different sizes. Anything else?"

Nope. I'll be damned if I'm gonna ask which hole the bigger scope's going down. Or...up.

I stressed again that it's imperative I stay under deep sedation the entire time, because in case you hadn't heard, Ron woke up during his colonoscopy. He lived to tell about it. I would not.

As the day approached, I seriously debated cancelling, but Kearstin's getting married in October, we're serving meat at her reception, and although her wedding will be well outside the box of "traditional" she made it abundantly clear that the father of the bride inducing vomiting on the mother of the bride with a sudden punch to the sternum during dinner is too far outside the box for her. 

FINE. I'll get gagged and bagged. Happy?

Now let's talk about "the pre-probe cleanse" otherwise known as a diet of jello and chicken broth while using medication to liquify your solids and then projectile crapping everything you've eaten in the past week. Intrigued? You seem intrigued. With just 4 laxatives and 64 ounces of a Miralax/lemonade cocktail in a 24 hour span, you too could lose 6 pounds overnight and risk getting excited enough about that to consider flirting with an eating disorder. But heads up. You'll spend your days parked on the toilet with your feet on a footstool and unable to leave the house because a high probability of crapping your pants comes with the territory, and is that really where you wanna be when Jesus comes back?

I don't know about you, but sitting on the toilet every 20 minutes isn't my idea of fun. It was almost like spending a day in the life of my husband. 

The following day on the way to the hospital, we saw a rainbow and Ron said, "See? It's a sign you're not gonna die during your colonoscopy." I said, "Or it's a sign I'm going to, because if I wake up in the middle of it, they're gonna have to kill me on the spot."

When I arrived, I took every opportunity to tell everyone that I needed to be put under deep enough that I wouldn't wake up, because 'he woke up' I'd tell them as I pointed my thumb in Ron's direction and they all assured me that I wouldn't wake up. But can the volunteer at the front desk and the lady checking me in at registration really make such bold claims? And don't act like you know either, parking lot construction worker guy, but nice try.

The nurse called me back and since my reproductive system is the only part of my anatomy that hasn't realized I'm 50 and still works properly, she required me to pee in a cup for a pregnancy test because let's drain her of every last drop of bodily fluid while she's here, shall we? Vampires.

An hour later, I was being wheeled into the procedure room and explaining to the anesthesiologist that deeper is better for me. Then they taped a plastic tube into my mouth, which begs the questions 'why am I awake for this part and are you even listening to me?' 

He told me I'd feel a burning in my hand, but it'd be temporary. Then the burning started and I waited for it to stop, but it was getting worse, and I realized that the burning would probably "stop" when I gave in to the sleep, but I needed to stay awake as long as possible to prove that I'm stronger than most and therefore needed extra strong doses, so I kept my eyes wide open because mustn't risk a long blink lest they think I'm under and they reach for my holes, but the tube in my mouth, and that burning, and SON OF A....

I opened my eyes and Ron asked, "Did you sleep through it?"

I said, "Yes, but only after they muzzled me and set my hand on fire."

I think he thought I was hallucinating.

After being discharged and eating my weight in pancakes, I was home in bed and Ron was across the hall where he works from home. Suddenly my eyes popped open in a panic and I ran into his office yelling, "I JUST POOPED MY PANTS!!" not realizing he was in the middle of a business meeting with a live mic.

Discernment has left the building.

Horrible timing and public humiliation are my new spiritual gifts.

When his meeting was over, he found me back in bed with my head under the covers.

He a little too calmly said, "ALL the senior management...and ALL the suppliers..."

I interrupted him with my head still under the covers, "Feel free not to tell me everything!"

And he said, "You started it."

Touche. 

Then he said, "Anything else before my next meeting starts?"

.....long silence....

"What if he stretched the wrong tube?"

Eventually, people are gonna stop asking me if I have anything else.

His and Hers Colonoscopy Screenings.

Dating at 50.

(((SHOUT OUT))) to Dawn P for the title idea for this blog entry.

 

Mothers and Duckers

I'm not a normal mother. 

I know, hide your shock as you note scenes from our family's Mother's Day party bus below. 

There are far too many reasons why I am the way I am to go into here, but my therapist has most of it on file, so it's in writing in an undisclosed location and probably under lock and key. Just know that if you're trying to figure me out, don't do that to yourself.

Now combine me with Ron's personality (undiagnosed officially due to refusal of therapy), then throw in all of our kids and their kids, and together we make up an extremely fun, tight knit, loving, and very poorly supervised party. 

Did I mention we're hilarious? Like, 60% of people who meet us would agree. The other 40% get blogged about. You see where this is going now, right?

*Cue the Fresh Prince Theme Song*

Now this is a story all about how 

my week got flipped- turned upside down

and I'd like to take a minute

just sit down y'all

I'll tell you all about the drama surroundin' dodgeball

I'll stop before Will Smith shows up and smacks the funny outta me.

On Friday April 29th, Caymen came home from school and said that the school was having a dodgeball tournament on Monday and she was told that she could come up with their team name. She chose- Mother Duckers. She texted her team, they approved, and the Mother Duckers were born.

Now. I obviously can't tell you how a "normal" mother would react to that. I can only tell you what I did with it. I made a Facebook post, because clever humor is my greatest of love languages, not counting sex and cake...also words of affirmation if you wanna get technical about the actual love languages.

From that Facebook post came a Mother Ducker team sponsor. Seriously. A lady I've never met in Louisiana contacted me and sent a generous amount of money for my daughter Aubrey to make shirts for each person on the team, as well as one for herself and she even had one made for me too. 

(((HUGE SHOUT OUT TO DANA O.)))

Aubrey made the shirts and delivered them to me on Sunday morning, because when it comes to humor-  we don't, we don't, we don't mess around HEY! I don't know where that's from, but I feel like you should be chanting that in your head as you read it.

So I wore my shirt to help our daughter Kearstin move into a new super fancy apartment complex and our entire family jumped in to help because that's how our family rolls. So 13 of us altogether, including 4 highly charged babies ages 4-7. (I've always called them "the babies" and probably always will.)

Some shots of a few of our moving crew for your enjoyment:

With 13 people and a 26 foot moving truck, we made it in one trip, and 6 hours later she was settled in and we were chilling out and eating pizza in their beautiful new apartment complex, which Scarlet (one of my 4 year old granddaughters) was convinced and subsequently convinced the others, had a playground down there. 

"Down there" was a long strip of straw covered grass leading from Kearstin's outdoor patio, past a row of neighboring patios, and over a small hill. Being only one way to find out, the 4 babies and I headed that direction...until an older couple came running out of their apartment yelling "WE'RE TRYING TO GROW GRASS!!!" 

Cool. We're trying to find a playground. We've all got goals.

They looked me up and down and then from me to each of the babies and asked "Did you all just move in?' and the looks on their faces told me they were scared to death I was about to say yes. As tempting as it was to totally screw with them for fun, I told them the truth and regretted it as soon as they looked so obviously relieved.

After 7 minutes of my life I'll never get back listening to them drone on about "the rules of the housing association" we returned to Kearstin's apartment where we spent the next 20 minutes feeling bad about trespassing over their straw grass imagining all the hilarious things our family could do to torment the living crap out of them and laughing about it until we cried. 

People should stop triggering us. We have entirely too much fun with that.

Not for the first time, I wondered how our first impressions go so terribly wrong and Kearstin said, "For starters, look at your shirt."

Well, there's that. Refer back to the opening sentence at the top.

MEANWILE...during the move, Caymen was receiving texts from a girl on their dodgeball team allllll day about the dodgeball shirts, and wanting to see pictures of the shirts, because her mom could make everyone shirts if they buy their own shirt. 

Quick review: Dodgeball was the NEXT day, WE ALREADY HAD SHIRTS, and thanks to our generous sponsor, they're FREE. But this chick would not let it go.

The following day, Caymen wore her shirt to school and gave the rest to the "texting girl" to pass out to everyone else on the team. Caymen received many compliments from students AND TEACHERS who appreciated the clever humor because how could they not?

BUT THEN...and if you've been here before you know that no good comes from BUT THEN...

Caymen was informed that the dodgeball tournament wasn't that day, but the FOLLOWING Monday.

Everybody think it together now: SH*T.

For those who don't understand the problem here, that gives anyone with no sense of humor 7 whole days to cause us trouble about this harmless fun that hurts absolutely no one. 

*side eyeing you, texting girl.*

So surprise surprise when Thursday evening rolled around and "texting girl" began texting Caymen that she showed the Ducker shirt around and was told they couldn't wear them, so her mom was going to make new shirts and Caymen would need to buy one, so of course we disregarded everything she said. 

The following day she returned all the shirts to Caymen, having never even passed them out, and then took it upon herself to change the team name to 'Complete Chaos' which is not only dumb, but 100% appropriate since that's exactly what she caused for no other reason than to stir up unnecessary drama and be in control of something.

Monday was D-Day...Dodgeball Day...

Since we never heard about any changes or complaints from anyone in an actual position of authority at the school, Caymen stuck with Plan A and wore her Mother Duckers t-shirt to school and I spent the day wearing mine, just in case I got a call from the school saying Caymen was wearing inappropriate humor and I needed to bring her a new shirt. (On the off-chance they don't yet realize how short a distance that apple fell from the tree.)

So that morning, texting girl approached Caymen in the hallway with a new team shirt. *Cue the western showdown music and rolling tumbleweed* 

Texting girl said, "Here's your dodgeball shirt."

And Caymen removed her hooded sweatshirt revealing her Ducker and said, "No. Here's my dodgeball shirt."

That was followed by a disappointed but anti-climactic "okay" and a walk away. Well that was easy.

So texting girl wore her Complete Chaos shirt for the game and Caymen wore Mother Duckers and everybody else on their team wore their regular clothes because texting girl ruined it for everybody. 

All of which brings me to this. I now have in my possession 4 un-used Mother Ducker t-shirts that I'll be giving away. (1 Small, 1 Medium, and 2 X-Larges). So if I happen to have 4 crazy readers who appreciate our hilarity and would like a free, albeit scandalous t-shirt, message me to enter your name into a drawing just in case I have more than 4 crazy readers. I'll contact you if you win to set up delivery or shipping details, depending on where you live. (I'll draw the names on May 21st.) If you don't win and would still like to order a t-shirt, my daughter will happily hook you up for $15. Bonus points if you message me a picture of yourself wearing your t-shirt and, you never know, possibly a feature in a follow-up blog post.  

Remember the last time one person stirred up an unnecessary t-shirt scandal with us? 

It turned into a successful line of 'Sassy's Bounce House' merch.

So now we gonna spread some Mother Ducking love. 

Who's in?

Choked Up

I turned 50 in December. Ron rented a party bus for our family to ride around pole dancing for 3 hours because he knew that would be my party dream come true, as I assume would be everyone's.  

Despite turning half a century old, I have only two significant life changes to report:

1. I got Invisiline braces. I lived my first 50 years with the big split between my two front teeth so I figured I'd spend the next 50 without it, just to keep things even. 

And:

2. I choke on meat now. 

What were you expecting, menopause? Stop. I still dance for a living over here.

The choking thing presented itself on Friday October 29th on the way home from an amusement park at roughly 10:15pm. Ron was driving, I was in the passenger seat, Zac and Caymen were in the seat behind us, and Ace and Scarlet were in the very back. 

Why so much detail? Because you remember details when you almost die and your family sits there and lets it almost happen.

We were riding along eating Wendy's and Zac and I were having a conversation. (That's an important detail.) I had just asked him a question when I swallowed a bite of my double cheeseburger and felt it get stuck. Not in the back of my throat stuck, but down past my neck and deep into my windpipe stuck and I could kind of sort of breathe around it, but barely. So am I choking? Am I not choking? Grabbing my neck and doing the universal 'I'm choking' signal seemed dramatic when I still hadn't decided what constitutes an actual choke.

Zac answered the question I'd asked him, but I didn't reply back, and I always reply back, so surely he'll notice something is wrong with his mother, but I turned around to find him staring down at his iPad not even waiting for a reply to his reply. 

I began shifting around in my seat while my mouth filled up with saliva and I looked over to see Ron double fisting French fries into his mouth from the Wendy's bag so I knew that was a lost cause. I could've nudged him and did the 'I'm choking' thing, but I knew that would leave me at the mercy of Zac and Ron on the side of the road doing who knows what they'd think up to me to inflict vomiting, while the children watched through the windows.

The children. CAYMEN. Caymen loves me and will notice that mommy got quiet. I craned my neck around to see her staring at her phone and I decided that on the off chance I survive the night, I'd be limiting her screen time forever.

FI-NA-LLY, as tears streamed down my cheeks imagining the coroner signing 'cause of death: Wendy's double cheeseburger and probably Covid', it slid down. I gasped in relief, took big gulps of water, and turned to calmly address my oblivious family members. 

"SO NOBODY NOTICED ME CHOKING TO DEATH???"

They seemed surprised. Zac asked, "When did you choke?" 

WHEN DID I CHOKE?  "After I asked you that question!" 

He calmly said, "Wow. That was a long time ago."

YES. I KNOWWWWW. 

Everybody take note, because THAT'S why choking is called The Silent Killer and just like the time I was having an allergic reaction to a hazel nut in 2007 and Ron told me to wait until the Ohio State Game was over, God saved my life all by Himself while probably shaking His head in disappointment at my family members.

And they wonder why Jesus loves me more. M'hm.

Now fast forward to January 22nd. I had just returned home from an Emmaus team meeting, where a lady stopped me in the church bathroom and said to me, "You're always so put together."

It's refreshing to meet new people who have obviously never read my blog.

And three hours later I was watching myself in our laundry room mirror with Ron's fists on my sternum while I vomited Salisbury steak into the sink, because this is what we trained for.

Shout out to my new friend Holli. Sorry to shatter my first impression for ya. Now excuse me while I google esophageal tumors, because I refuse to believe my family is right and I just need to take smaller bites.

So last week I asked Ron where he wanted to eat for our 29th Anniversary and he suggested Texas de Brazil.

Oh. You mean that all you can eat MEAT place? That's how you want this to end?

We opted for Plan B. Longhorn Steakhouse. Still has meat, but not as upscale so slightly less embarrassing if we end up having to perform our little Heimlich/Vomiting demo. Also it's portion controlled as opposed to endless visits by a waiter carving me slabs of choking hazards served table side.

I think through every possible scenario now because that's what 50 year olds have to do.

Our dinner was served and the ribeye I ordered medium arrived well-done. I'm not a fan of sending food back, but if I'm going to die from a ribeye on our anniversary, it's going to be cooked the way I ordered it, it's the least they can do. When the waitress returned and I showed her my steak, she turned to ask if Ron's was cooked to order and his plate was empty. Like, SCRAPED.CLEAN. 

And I'm the one who needs to take smaller bites? Right.

Twenty minutes later, I was the only one eating while Ron sat across the table watching for signs of my eyes bulging and darting and trying to convince me he wolfed down his food for my own safety, lest he be distracted.

When I finished my meal, the waitress brought us free dessert because I ate alone on our anniversary. I looked up from my strawberry shortcake to see the top of Ron's head as he scarfed down his cheesecake.

Apparently his protection only extends to the main course. 

If dessert ever turns against me, I'm screwed.