If you've been reading this blog with any regularity, you know I have zero problems making fun of myself. I mean, if you can't laugh at yourself, you shouldn't laugh at others, and believe me, I laugh at others plenty. People are just plain entertaining, and I'm among that group in a big way. But a couple things happened last weekend that made me realize I'm not only funny in real life, I might just be a horrible person.
First of all...my husband's facial hair.
Back late last summer Hubby decided that instead of growing his head hair out before going for his two weeks of mountain man life, he'd instead grow hair on his face. We've been married for a long time, and we dated for a long time, and in all those years he's had some kind of facial hair, but generally, especially in the last two decades, it's been a nicely trimmed goatee. I'm not a beard person, but I do like a nice goatee if it's kept well. So Hubby's obliged for a long, long time, except in August when he gets ready for his time out there in the wilderness with his sister. It's been that way the last couple years, and when he gets home he shaves it.
Not this year.
Nope that beard stuck around.
Now, I can't fault him. I mean, I have had short hair, which is not his preference, on and off our whole lives. Believe me, if I could grow great hair like Peaches, I would, but my hair gets stringy and gross so I keep it short. And, instead of allowing myself to go gray naturally, I highlight with magenta, so that my hair looks like an ash brown/white/magenta firework. Not exactly what any guy in his middle years would think of as ideal on his wife, but hey, we're open like that.
So I didn't say much about the beard. I mean, I'm a woman, so of course I mentioned it, and how I wasn't in love with it, but he seemed determined to keep it (probably out of spite, although he's not really the spiteful kind of guy) so I stopped saying anything.
Which brings us to last weekend. Last weekend was my release party for "Not While I'm Chewing!" so I was a little...let's just call it preoccupied most of the weekend. However...
That did NOT excuse what happened on Saturday right after the last book event.
We stopped at our favorite place for coffee and soup The Steaming Cup where I had an amazing cup of mushroom brie and a wonderful peppermint mocha frappe. (See I notice some things.) Hubby and I were enjoying a nice late lunch when we saw a guy with a massive beard walk by. I commented on the beard, saying it was so bushy and yikes.
Hubby: Well mine is less bushy.
Me: (Looking closely at him.) Oh, you trimmed everything nicely.
Hubby: (Rubbing his face) Um, not quite.
Me: YOU SHAVED IT OFF?
Friends, he'd shaved off everything except his original goatee. His cheeks were clean! And I'd missed it.
Me: When did you do that?
Hubby: Friday morning.
So...yes. I'm the WORST wife in the world. I missed my husband shaving his beardly scruff and I didn't notice it for almost 36 hours. In that time we'd eaten four meals together, watched a movie, kissed each other a few times, and yes, I'd patted both his cheeks affectionately. And I DIDN'T NOTICE!
I was feeling bad about that. And then this happened:
I'm part of our church's "Adult" choir. We used to be called the "Senior" choir, but then all the members got to be really, really senior, so we changed the name to make us feel younger or something. Anyway, our director understands our little group's limitations and we often sing not so much in harmony but antiphonally, men one phrase, women the other. This is especially true when we are scheduled to sing the psalm. (Those of you not familiar with church liturgy, well, I'm going to let you look it up.)
Such was the case this past Sunday. We were singing the psalm and, just to change things up, the director had the MEN start. This proved to be confusing to the women who almost always lead off the antiphonal singing. So in first service, before we stood up to sing, I leaned over and reminded my choir partner, a dear sweet lady I've known for more than 23 years, that we were NOT starting. She smiled and got it RIGHT! YAY US!
So, second service. You know, the service most people bail on because it really does start too late in the day (10:30) and runs sometimes past noon if the pastor has an especially important point to make. Also, second service comes, for Hubby and me, AFTER warm up, AFTER first service, AFTER teaching Sunday School, and BEFORE we've eaten for the first time in the day. I'm not making excuses for what happened, I'm just explaining where in our day this next thing fell.
So we stand up to sing the psalm and I look at my partner and I think, "I don't need to remind her that we're not singing the first phrase. She'll remember from first service. We're good to go."
And the director raises his hands....and then...
I SING THE FIRST PHRASE WITH THE MEN.
Complete mental disconnect from my brain to my mouth.
Now, this did NOT go unnoticed by anyone because I'm not a quiet singer. My partner leaned over and nudged me. And then she smiled and she has one of those great infectious little smiles that makes me giggle every time.
Which is what I did.
For the rest of the psalm.
I am CLEARLY the worst person. Worst wife, worst choir singer, IN THE WORLD.
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