I know the Husband hates when I talk about him but . . .

The pride runs deep my friends after I found out that the Husband won the first round of a hula hooping contest at work last week. I'm not totally sure what a bunch of engineers were doing having such a contest. I think the statistic is something like 78% of engineer types don't have working hips. So yes, it seems rather odd all around. But apparently it was in the name of fitness not humiliation, which actually befuddles me as well. Anyway.

Putting off my usual humble nature, I must say this is all thanks to me. Were it not for that one time I forced/coerced the then Boyfriend to hone his skills I don't think the Husband would be in the position he is today, the position to take home gold so to speak.

circa 2003

Like I said, I'm just so proud. And on top of that his birthday is coming up and he'll be an old fart just like me, but he'll have a hula hoop trophy to make him at least feel young.

One of us should feel that way right? You know young? Seems fair enough that it should be him instead of me, that hula hoop champion of mine. He doesn't let his gray hairs get him down. I don't even think he notices them. I, however, point out his silveriness all the time. So yes, better him than me. He is all deserving of feeling youthful.

Except, he did bring home an electric typewriter (what?) last week. There's no hula hoop magical enough to cover the 'old' written all over that.

And that Oregon Scientific weather station that he likes to stare at for long periods of time. . .

And that tendency to make jokes a grandpa would make and then be the one in the room laughing the hardest . . .

And the obsession with oats and fiber . . .

Ummm, sometimes these ramblings of mine get me nowhere, except trouble.

So peace out.