"Give a little bit,
Give a little bit of your love to me.
Give a little bit,
I'll give a little bit of my love to you.
There's so much that we need to share. . ." - Supertramp
The fine art of compromise. . .that must be my "gift," I have to tell you.
My Dad called me yesterday with A ticket to the LSU/Arkansas game. Did I want to go? You mean, I alone (tempt you?) One ticket, no waiting.
Uhhhhhhh. I'll have to call you back, Dad.
I don't want to go without my husband. That's no fun. And I like being able to go to the bathroom when I like and fall asleep at halftime on my sofa. . . 90 thousand screaming coon-asses ain't my idea of a good time in my old age. I worried over it all day.
I broke the news to my husband during our dinner date. We were having a lively discussion about how old we were getting when a guy walked in wearing an LSU shirt. "Go!" My husband said. . ." It will make your Dad happy to have you and your brother there - the whole goofy bunch!"
The guilt is worse when he's nice about it. . .the phone rang, his hunting buddy. "No, I can't go this weekend. I promised the wife I'd get the foyer painted. Yeah, I know the deer are gonna be runnin'. . ." He hung up.
"Call him back, go. . ." I whispered, envisioning my foyer ten years later in its same state of half-way done. "That way I won't feel guilty about the ballgame. . . "
He didn't even give me a courtesy pause or a fake consideration before he started dialing the phone. "Hey! She said I can go." I began to wonder about the "coincidental" timing. . .ah, well.
He was so excited that he took me to the mall and bought us some "Push Me in the Bushes" Perfume from The Panty Whisperer.
Give a little, get a little. But your foyer may look like crap forever. . .
1 month ago