_Usually, this would be my "Sunday on the Lake with Donna" blog, but because of the Easter holiday, we stayed home to dine with Frank’s family. Then, just like every other holiday since I married that dude, it all went awry and ended up sucking.
Here’s a little background. I got married on October 16th to the wild and wacky love of my life. We were honeymooning during Halloween. Mind you, I’ve costumed up every All Hallow’s Eve since birth, so I took my fringed flapper dress and he took his Zoot Suit. I came down with a fever so high that I hallucinated I was in purgatory with a pirate, a surfer from the seventies, and Annette Funicello. I couldn’t leave the bed. Halloween sucked.
I believe that overweight, middle-aged men should avoid throwing themselves off of ramps on tiny bicycles. But being the kickass wife that I am, I let the Frankster go to BMX camp the weekend after we returned. Come Turkey Day, I served him stuffing with gravy and Loratabs. He’d dislocated everything from the right knee down. We’d spent our one month anniversary in the hospital. And, we were spending my favorite holiday with him laid up moaning in pain and me lamenting no leftovers. Thanksgiving sucked.
Every Christmas Eve, I watch “A Christmas Carol”—the version with Captain Picard as Scrooge. I time it out so the ghosts will arrive at midnight. It is a tradition I adore. Last year, just as I hit play, we received a call informing us that someone had broken down the door on our rental property, robbed the tenant (who we later discovered was an octogenarian drug-dealer), trashed the place, and left it standing wide open. No “God bless us, every one” for me. Christmas sucked.
For Valentine’s Day, he bought me high-topped, sparkly, purple Chuck Taylor tennis shoes with hot pink laces. I had to remind him that I was 44, not 4. And, I had a UTI, so no sex. Valentine’s Day sucked.
I bought a fabulous frock, beautiful bonnet, and all the ingredients for Donna’s Delicious Deviled eggs. I anticipated an afternoon feast filled with laughter and love. And sharing a chocolate bunny in bed. Maybe even some “Rite of Spring” fertility celebration sex to make up for V-Day. Then, yesterday, Frank was diagnosed with strep throat. Today, we ate cereal. Easter sucked.
I know I’m missing the true meaning of each of these days, and I should just be grateful for all the blessings I have, but I just can’t help but obsess about the Fourth of July.
the bourbonistA, Promoting Debauchery and stamping out political-correctness one blog at a time.