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Happily Ever After The Week In Review

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by Valerie Nusbaum

Last night I did something that I almost never do. I took a Tylenol PM to help me sleep. I don’t like taking that stuff and here’s why: I can’t find my face this morning; I have had two cups of fully caffeinated tea, which I don’t need because I’m jumpy and jittery enough without it; and I have full recollection of the weird dream I was having when I jolted awake at 6:30 a.m. 

I was dreaming that Randy and I threw a party. Everyone was in formal wear, with the women wearing brightly-colored gowns and the men in black ties. The husband of one of my friends showed up with a packet of pot that somehow ended up in the trash. I won’t get into the part of the dream where a bunch of us were digging through the trash looking for it. I do remember that the guy who brought it was angry with us because it had cost him $8.00. And I kept calling him by the nickname to which we all refer to him behind his back. He was angry about that, too.

When I told Randy about my strange dream this morning, he pointed out that the nickname for my friend’s husband isn’t one that I bestowed on him. The nickname came from one of his own family members, and honestly, if you knew this guy, you’d say, “Oh….I get it.”  They don’t live around here and his wife doesn’t read my column.

That’s enough about my subconscious. You really don’t want to know more about what goes on inside my head, so I’ll fill you in on what’s been happening with us recently.

Randy visited our dermatologist for his annual skin check. This is one of those times when we want a really low score, as in how many spots did the doctor spray/lance/cut/burn this time? Randy’s score was two (yay!), but both of the spots were on his face. The big one is in the middle of his forehead, and he’s calling himself “Cyclops.”  The other, of course, is on the tip of his nose. My mother bragged that she had six spots on her face last month, so Wanda is ahead by four.  However, my appointment is next month, and since last time my score was 27, I’m optimistic that I’ll be the winner. My appointment is also three days before my birthday, so I really mean it when I say I hope there’s no surprise party this year.  After Randy’s appointment, my mother had us over for spaghetti.  Randy always gets spaghetti when he has a boo-boo. Yes, he eats a lot of spaghetti.

Back at home, I finished cleaning my studio. It had been a while since that room had a good deep-cleaning, but, in my defense, I’ve been working in there non-stop for almost two years, cranking out a lot of new paintings. I’m lucky to have even spot-cleaned the counters and cabinet tops. Since the room was finally sparkling, I spent the next two days holed up in there doing a new painting. It’s of the War Correspondents memorial at Gathland State Park. The painting turned out pretty well, if I do say so myself. Sales have been good so far.

Randy and I have been taking long walks in the mornings on the days when he’s not at his office.  It’s good for me to get outside and away from the treadmill, and this way I know he’s actually walking and not sitting on a rock on the street behind our house waiting until his walk time is up. He told me once, jokingly, that he does that.  I hope he was joking.

My friend, Teresa, had her 60th birthday in July. It’s nice to have something happy to celebrate. I lied and told her that her sixties will be the best time of her life. I’m a true friend. It will do her no good to know the truth about what’s coming.

There was house cleaning, lots of laundry, and more than one piece of pizza from the fireman’s Ambulance Company carnival.  There were also steamers and fries, but we justified it by saying that the carnival only comes once a year.  Then Randy reminded me that we’ve already had the Ambulance Company carnival, which gave us the most beautiful fireworks display (Thank you Thurmont Ambulance Company), which we were able to watch from our bedroom window.  It was so nice to have fireworks in the bedroom again. But, I digress…

We had dinner with our friends Gayle and Jon* on Monday night at Los Amigos. It was margarita Monday at the restaurant. We laughed and laughed, but it wasn’t because of the margaritas. 

I took Mom to the grocery store, too. She hadn’t been inside the store since before the pandemic, as we’d been doing her food shopping for her. She was in for some sticker-shock as she saw how much prices have gone up recently.

The heatwave continues, my car got an oil change, there were lots of Etsy orders to fill, and I cooked some chicken and broccoli. Oh, and our neighbors went away on vacation. We’re keeping an eye on things for them. Randy thinks we should put a “For Sale” sign in their yard and text them a photo. 

That’s pretty much what happened here in the last week.  Next week is more of the same. 

Whatever you have planned for the coming days, I hope you stay cool and enjoy it!

*Names changed to protect the innocent.

Happily Ever After – Double Date

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by Valerie Nusbaum

I think I’ve told you before that Randy and I have had some trouble finding another couple to date.  We’ve tried it with lots of couples over the years, and while all of them have been lovely people, it just hasn’t clicked, mostly because the men couldn’t find anything to talk about.

I had always thought the problem was that Randy didn’t really know any of the people we’d ventured out with. In each case, the other woman was a friend of mine, and we each had gotten the bright idea to include our husbands in an outing, thinking it would be fun. Most of the time, Randy and the other man just looked at each other with strained smiles and found that they had nothing in common. Of course, that’s perfectly understandable.

Then I realized that we’ve actually been dating Cathy and Wayne for years and had not even realized it. I grew up with Cathy. We were in the first grade together,  and we have been friends ever since she cried during an assembly when she was supposed to introduce me as “Citizen of the Month”; I put my arm around her and told her not to worry about it. No big deal. I introduced myself and earned a reputation for being forward. It was Cathy’s fault, but I never blamed her for it.

Wayne was my neighbor when I was growing up, so I’ve known him forever, too. He had flowing black hair with a white streak in it and rode a motorcycle. The two of them getting together was a bit of a surprise, but a pleasant one.

Randy and I have attended Cathy’s Halloween parties almost every year, and have dressed as everything from an aging rock star and magician to apprentice sorcerers at Hogwart’s Academy. Last year, we were a farmer and a cow. Guess which costume I wore? Nope. I was the bovine. It was HOT in that suit, and Randy wouldn’t leave my udders alone.  And HE won a prize for something or other.

In turn, Cathy and Wayne have always shown up for our picnics and holiday gatherings. Cathy loves Randy’s scavenger hunts. We’ve shared good times and bad times, and these friends of mine have adopted my husband.

So it came as no surprise when Randy mentioned that we hadn’t had dinner with Cayne (that’s celebrity-speak for “Cathy and Wayne”) in a while. As is the case in almost all relationships, the women are responsible for making the social arrangements, so Cathy and I set up an evening, and we agreed to meet at Famous Dave’s in Frederick a few weeks ago.

Randy and I got there a little early, and Cayne was a little late. They live in West Virginia, so we cut them some slack. It boded well for the evening when Wayne showed up wearing a shirt that was almost identical to Randy’s. Both men wore yellow polos, with a dark blue checkerboard line. They looked like Mutt and Jeff. The two of them immediately started giggling like a couple of ten-year-olds who’d seen some lingerie hanging on a clothesline. The hostess wisely seated us in a booth way in the back of the restaurant.

We were all hungry, so we perused the menu as we talked about our days. For some inexplicable reason, the men focused on the word “sauce” and found it hilarious. We were in a barbecue joint, for crying out loud. Everything comes with sauce, and there were six bottles on the table. Cathy and I shook our heads, knowing that we had a long night ahead of us.

We women spent the next two hours discussing our work, our health, recipes, our families, religion, mutual friends, Cathy’s trip to Pasadena to work on a float in the Tournament of Roses parade, pets, and about a hundred other things.

Randy and Wayne told jokes and kept repeating the word “sauce.” They gave our server a hard time, too. I forget what her name was. It was also the name of a town or city, but I don’t remember which one. Wayne asked her if she’d ever been there. She hadn’t. Maybe it was the name of a car, too. Anyway, the men found that hysterical. I should point out, too, that there was no alcohol involved in this outing.

My hubby laughed and giggled all the way home, and poked me several times during the night to remind me of things that Wayne had said. Their bromance scares me a little. Cathy says that Wayne does the same thing to her. I’m sure we’ll see them again before too long. I hope the men coordinate their outfits again. Maybe Cathy and I should do that, too. That would really freak out Cheyenne or Shiloh or Durango or whatever her name was. She probably quit working at Famous Dave’s after our visit. Who could blame her?

Randy and I are trying out a new couple next week. I’ll let you know how it goes.

In closing, I want to thank Marty Rippeon for the great new toothbrush and for the nice things she said about my column. Marty, I’m waiting for the season when you and Randy both make it on Survivor!  Just don’t expect me to visit the island. I don’t do bugs or dirt or smelly people.