He’s getting older.
I can see it more and more clearly as years pass by.
He calls me pretty lady, bordering on all the time now.
Hey, “Pretty Lady.” “What’s up pretty lady?” “Can I have a kiss pretty lady?”
He sounds like some creepy dirty old man with an aluminum tin can in his hand, jingling it around for change.
And he listens to old man jive music, frequently.
The kind that comes on the radio in old sleepy towns with only AM reception.
And he does this like clockwork on Sundays (all day . . .unless he’s listening to gospel) and every morning at 5:21 am. He hits snooze for 1 HOUR and it repeats every nine minutes because he enjoys the tempo.
And oddly enough, he’s turned. . .
When we were in our early twenties I used to yell at him for not mugging me down in the parking lot and Not patting my butting the dormitory halls.
“Nicole. I don’t think that’s appropriate.”
“But I’m affectionate. Plus, I like to show off. Can’t you just give me a kiss in front of somebody, sometime? anytime? somewhere other than in private.”
“My mama taught me better.” He’d say.
Even a few years ago, I think I said something at Thanksgiving to his parents alluding to “having babies”. He almost died.
“It’s not as if they don’t know they have FOUR grandchildren. And. . .they know how we had to make them. . . . .”
He didn’t say anything, but his milk chocolate skin did turn beet red.
ANYWAY, I know I’m rambling but, I say all this to say . . . .
With all of his craziness, and it is getting crazier. . . .somehow. . .he has turned more affectionate. More loving, more needing OF ME and (impossibly) I love him more for it.
In the last two days. . . .
He gave me a kiss in the parking lot of his ‘place of work’, where actual people could see.
He printed 3 sets of directions for me to drive and meet my friends in Austin.
He filled the car up.
Got money for me out of the ATM.
Planned for dinners, and practically packed my bag for me.
Kissed me upon entering and leaving the rooms at our house.
And told me I was beautiful 309 times.
57 times while I had crud in my eyes, my hair stood directly perpendicular to my face and, my breadth smelled like sludge.
Life with him is the only life for me.
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Unfortunately for him, as I grow older, I’m getting more cocky and doing whatever the hell I want.
Every time I turn around I’m accidentally telling people how great I am.
And I’m telling my family I’m going to do whatever I want. They need to just deal.
And when I go to the grocery store,
Sometimes I just buy blueberries.
And maybe an odd package of raspberries.
Do my kids want apples. Yes. But I don’t care.
Would somebody else, anybody else in my home like a peach or maybe a mango.
But, eh. I don’t feel like it.
So I only buy blueberries. And bananas. Because I always buy bananas, and they just have to deal with it.
BLUEBERRY ICE CREAM
I made this the other day and I’m pretty sure I used more blueberries. Like an entire cup more. It just makes the ice cream thicker and me happier as the quotient level of fruit multiplies, my quotient level of getting fat decreases. Anyway, it isn’t a precise recipe, and if it is a little so soft for your liking, you can add more fruit OR just stick it in the freezer and let it harden. Either way, I’m sure you’ll love it.
Frozen Blueberries (10 oz.)
1/2 cup sugar
2/3 cup low fat milk.
Place all the ingredients into a high-powered blender or food processor and blend until smooth!