I take dares.
I’m not terribly discriminating about the dares I take if there’s money involved. Some people think of it as gambling. I think of it as making $600 an hour if I could just get consistent dare-type work.
So far the work hasn’t been consistent.
It was a sultry, sunny day in the middle of May. The kind of day that could land beads of sweat along my hairline as a reward for simply walking to the mailbox in north Florida. It was the kind of day that made me pine for February. But none of that mattered now, because I was above the clouds, inside a climate-controlled cabin, on my way to 2% humidity. We were flying to San Francisco for our honeymoon. I had been married now for 19 hours. For some people, marriages are interchangeable. They turn spouses in like library books over the course of their life until they find the one they like well enough to keep. For others, a honeymoon is a vacation with the person they’ve been vacationing with for quite some time.
Neither of those was true for me.
For me, marriage was forever—permanently permanent– and the honeymoon was the beginning of some things I didn’t know a whole lot about. And that’s all I’m going to say about that.
Read MoreNot Safe For Missy’s Preacher.
-or-
Not Safe For Male Persuasion.
The following tale is one that needed to be told, which likely makes sense only to me at the moment. It is handled somewhat delicately. I wasn’t going for shock value. But it might be just the topic a dude would walk away from at the water cooler. Consider yourself warned if you are either of the above.
One night last week I exchanged a rather negatively passionate discussion with a daughter about feminine hygiene supplies and the fact that she was absolutely, desperately out of them. I don’t mean a little bit out. I mean she couldn’t go another hour. It was 9:36 p.m. I know this because I looked at the digital clock in my bedroom, exasperated, and said, “It’s 9:36 p.m.!” The children know not to bring me any form of crisis after 9. They’ve been warned. For years.
Read MoreI’ve heard the saying plenty of times over the years: Where there’s smoke there’s fire. If that’s a true statement, then it also stands to reason that where there’s a smoke alarm blaring, there is smoke.
These are proverbs generally referring to the fact that there is usually some truth to every rumor.
Perhaps it was the metaphor that threw me off.
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