There is a gaping hole in our kitchen ceiling and it is atrocious.
Our contractor had to rip it out because our noggins were endangered of having the thing collapse on us.
So, Bob, our very own Mr. Fixit, is kind and generous enough to help us through this problem. It’s going to be finished at the end of the week. I can’t wait because every time I stand in front of the refrigerator it feels like I am about to be sucked into a huge vortex of darkness and leaky pipes above.
The joys of homeownership. Nothing is better.
In other news…
Last night was an unusual night. I had a late meeting for a potential and temporary short term job and came home around 9:30pm. I chatted on the phone for an hour or so with my lovely sister in law and figured, with a quick peak at our shut bedroom door and the sound of the space heater, that Nick was already sleeping, passed out like the old man he is.
So you can imagine my surprise as I head upstairs after I was done talking to Kelly and my phone rings. And it’s ringing Nick’s ringtone.
Nick is still out to tell me he’s on his way home. If he’s still out, who in the hell is in our bedroom?
And the door swings open and it’s bleary-eyed Nick, cell phone in his hand.
YOU GAVE ME A HEART ATTACK. WHY ARE YOU CALLING ME WHEN YOU ARE ONE ROOM AWAY?
“Oh, hi, babe. I was wondering where you were. I was getting worried.”
HEY MR. SHARPIE – I’VE BEEN HOME FOR AN HOUR.
“Really? I didn’t hear you.”
So, I give him an odd look and get ready for bed.
As I snuggle into my side of the bed and begin drifting off to sleep, Nick speaks clearly as if it’s the middle of the day, “I’m wide awake.”
“Well, this is certainly a role reversal.” I just want to get to sleep, but know it’s not going to happen.
“Maybe I should eat something,” Nick muses.
“If how I feel right now is what you felt the entire first year we were married when I kept yapping my head off because I wanted to talk, this is my way of apologizing right now and I swear I’ll never do that again.”
“I will go eat something,” he decides.
“Fine. There’s some popcorn I just made sitting out downstairs if you want that.”
Now, if you know ANYTHING about Nick and popcorn, you know that popcorn is not just another snack like, say, Pringles or M&Ms. Popcorn, in the Borchers family, is eaten in a rather methodical, non-stop robotic nothing can interrupt my rhythm, kind of way.
So you can imagine my surprise, slight annoyance when I am drifting off to sleep and all of a sudden I hear the clank of a glass (filled with sprite and ice, I’m sure) hitting the side table near our bed followed by Nick easing onto his side of the bed and I hear the back and forth of hand-bucket-stuff into mouth -hand-bucket-stuff into mouth – hand-bucket-stuff into mouth rhythm. All in the background is the distinct sound of Nick chewing the grains and fluff of salty popcorn.
I flipped over, “Are you eating in bed?”
I can’t see him in the dark but I hear the crunching continue, “Yup.”
My tiredness turns into sarcasm, “Is it good?” referring to the popcorn. I try not to think of the crumbs, particles, and oil that are going to get on our sheets or on me because of this late night snack.
With the dark veiling my face, Nick could not see me roll my eyes. I just laid on my back and waited for him to finish the bucket. It didn’t take long. For Nick to finish a bucket of popcorn, it never does.
As I heard him clap his salty hands and throw the excess on the ground because I know he doesn’t believe in napkins, I closed my eyes for much needed rest.
Sure enough, he falls asleep.