"Look at mine. Look at them!" he said, closing his eyes. 

Eugenio and I just got into an argument about who has more eyelashes. For the record, I've always known he has the most luscious lashes. He's quite vain about them, too. He was admiring our sleeping (amen, hallelujah) bebe, noting with a smile, "She's got my eyelashes."

I mentioned how this lady who did my makeup once commented that I have a lot of lashes. Like, a ton.  So maybe she got them from me too. He looked at me incredulously. Who am I to think I have nice lashes. Sit down, girl.

Diplomatically, he said,"OK, but mine are longer." 

Look at them! 

While discussing baby proofing our apartment now that Felicity is mobile Eugenio says, "We should look into getting one of those play pins or cages."

Walked in on my husband watching a vacuum infomercial. "I'm researching vacuums on consumer reports right now." I'm not complaining, but he's over here talking my ear off about vacuums while I'm just trying to enjoy my sports. Ugh, men. 

"The Shark looks good. I think I'll get it."

I hope that research continues once it's delivered. 

Snowed in and craving comfort food, I made a sausage lentil soup. I got the recipe from Rachel Ray. Nothing makes me feel woefully like a stay-at-home mom more than statements like that, but, by the way, I've never been led astray by any of her recipes (OK, I've only made two). I've also tried two Bethenny Frankel recipes, both disasters. I decided, never trust a trademarked Skinny Girl.

That's all besides the point. While making this hearty soup, my neighbor stops by with a tray of warm peanut butter cup cookies. How sweet! Panicking over what to do in this new social situation, I ask Eugenio after dinner, "Should we take her a bowl of soup when we return the tray?"

He scrunches his face replying, "She's so old. I don't know if her stomach can handle it."

Now I know how he really feels. He thinks the soup will kill our sweet neighbor. Perhaps this is a new recipe litmus test.

"I'll have to find out if I can drink beer with the Tamiflu." 

"Don't post that on Facebook."

I showed Eugenio a funny picture I took of Felicity wearing my sunglasses.

Eugenio: Felicity's stunning like her daddy.

Me, laughing: Yes she is. You are quite stunning.

Eugenio: Have you heard that song? It's a Lil Wayne song. *sings* Stunnin' like my daddy. Stunnin' like my daddy.

Me: I think you mean "stuntin'." But that's really funny, "stunning like my daddy."

I'm still laughing about this. Lil Wayne rapping about how he's breathtakingly beautiful, just like his daddy.

Tidbit from last night's conversation.

Eugenio: You should listen to I'm Not a Human Being II. Some songs you'll find offensive but on other songs there's like, piano. *Mimes piano playing* You'll like it.

 

"I would help you but I have to play," Eugenio said last night. He was really sincere about it too, which made me laugh. He then added, "but I'll rub your back when we watch the movie." I wasn't expecting his help anyway. We never assembly line the dish situation.

Last week on his day to do the dishes he was also on call. After eating, he looked at me and said, "I have some business to attend and then I will do the dishes." I knew he said this to assuage my inevitable seething over the lingering dishes, and I felt slightly guilty that he felt the need to explain this while he had work to do. I'm not that mean, gosh.

"Don't worry. Since you're on call tonight, I'll do the dishes."

He smiled, kissed me, then walked away to get down to business. 

Five minutes later I turned around and noticed, to my amusement, that the business he had to attend was playing his video game. I appreciate sly moves. I motioned for him to take off his headphones.

"Hey! I thought you had work to do. Like, you had to call some patients back." 

"No, I already did that earlier," he explained quickly before returning his attention to the screen.

I have some business to attend. 

I would help you but I have to play. (No longer mincing words.)

Writing these down to use later....

If Eugenio doesn't know about something, he quickly dismisses it with, "Well, we don't have that in Mexico" or "In Mexico...."

I sent my sister the baby shower address list that I've been working on for the past few days, and now he chimes in with his suggestions. "Oh we should invite so and so and so and so."

"I already sent Molly the list. If you want to invite them, I need their addresses soon."

"Just send them that email you made."

"That's just a save-the-date Evite."

"That's fine. They don't need an invitation."

"But it says, "invitation to follow." They'll be expecting an invitation."

"Bah! Whatever. They won't know. We don't have that in Mexico."

"Just because you've never seen it, doesn't mean it doesn't exist. Until five minutes ago, you didn't know what fresh spinach was. I guarantee you there's spinach in Mexico."

A few weeks ago he came out with this gem as we argued about whether or not I was eating an orange: "Well in Mexico the oranges only have four slices."  I know what he's thinking: Boom. End of discussion. Yeah, OK. 

I feel guilty relaying these tales considering he's out buying me a McFlurry. To be fair, I don't know anything. And I didn't get the phrase "birthday suit" until about two years ago. I always thought it was like, he's so happy it's his birthday, he's going to go naked. Then at the tender age of 26 I finally understood -- birth day, when you come into the world naked. OOOOOHHHHHHHHH. HA HA!

"Don't they serve bread here?" I ask with not a hint of patience. At a certain point, I'd rather embarrass myself by eating two loaves of stale bread than wait an extra 30 minutes for my meal.

"Yeah, they serve the chocolaty bread here."

That made my night. My 31 year old husband, chief fellow in oncology referring to rye bread as "the chocolaty bread." He does this from time to time, renaming ordinary items, making me so so happy. He also still asks me, "Now which ones are the white cheeses?" when selecting the fixings for his sandwich, even though I've answered that question no less than 30 times now. He doesn't like "the yellow cheese."

Me: When is your mom's birthday?

Eugenio: March...3rd?

Me: That's my birthday.

Eugenio: Oh, uhhh, I think her birthday is in March too?

I have a feeling he still uses Facebook to remember my birthday.

This has been another episode of putting my husband on blast. Love,love, love.

something they built by hand

This year I was so much better about gift shopping than last year. Everyone is not getting DVDs from the Best Buy sale bin. I started early -- like August! -- and slowly selected items when I had the money thus avoiding my last minute poverty meets The Grinch. I hate the holiday crowds, all the hysteria; it's all very embarrassing to watch. BUT! I still sincerely want to give good gifts to my friends and family. I did some of my final purchases last weekend on Etsy. I've decided to shop exclusively online for mostly books and handmade gifts next year, with the same start early and slow tactic.

Over dinner on Friday I tell Eugenio about my purchases and plans, explaining all about Etsy and the handmade jewelry I bought for my niece and friend. He looks intently in my eyes, shaking his head, agreeing that it's so much nicer to give real, thoughtful gifts, to support small, pathetic businesses. The next day while shopping for wrapping paper he asks, "What are we going to get for Britney?" referring to my niece. "Do you not listen to anything I say?" I ask laughing. He looks at me with a mix of indignation and guilt, his mouth open and shoulders shrugging in that stupid way.

"I TOLD you. I bought her gift on Etsy."

"Oh, yeah....What did you get her?" he asks, a tad trepidatious.

"I TOLD YOU. I got her a handmade necklace."  Truthfully, I don't know how handmade the necklaces were. I don't imagine the seller was actually molding those delicate charms herself with a blow torch in her closet. I probably could have "hand made" those too. Let's be real.

Last night over dinner as we discussed plans for shipping our gifts in lieu of traveling with them,  he asks again, "What was it you got for Britney?" Feeling the heat from my blood and cowering from the rage in my eyes, he shouts before I can say anything, "Something they built by hand!" smiling with pride at his correct answer.

Yes. Next year you'll all be getting something-they-built-by-hand.

fashion face off

I'm no fashionista but my husband is un poco loco. This hombre who wears a gold chain and shirts that are borderline Ed Hardy says he dresses better than me.

Me: I can't believe you think that!

Husband: It's not that I think that; it's that it's a fact.

Me: Whatever! You're like Bruno. You're hilarious and confident but not self aware.

I'm either pointing out his delusion or my really, really poor fashion sense.

EDIT: If this sounds mean, note that I unabashedly wear grandma underwear from Walmart and happen to love Eugenio's necklace. I have literally (literally literally not Rachel Zoe literally) never seen him not wearing it. And Ed Hardy is pushing it. They're just shirts with questionable designs. I don't like to be mean. It messes with my self perception of being inherently an asshole but externally charming.