Thirty days from now, Hubs will say good-bye to his twenties. This is a once-in-a-lifetime sort of situation. The only birthday we get to celebrate for a full month with a catchy title to pin on it. Thirty to Forty? No, thank you. Forty to Forty? Now that’s just nonsense. Thirty to Thirty has a nice ring to it, and it is a traditionally depressing milestone for most people. In fact, when I kicked off my Thirty to Thirty Campaign today, Hubs said, “Shut your pie hole.” (Seriously. That is a direct quote. Let’s just pretend he lets me be the witty one.)
Why Our Marriage Works (Alternately, "I Told You So")
Remember being a kid and making deals with your friends and/or siblings with voluntary servitude as the kicker? I’m not entirely sure how many days of slavery I racked up making my little sister do the chores I didn’t want to do, or keep things from my parents. “If you clean my side of the room, I’ll be your slave for a week!” was a pretty common refrain between us. (By the way, Stinky Face, these deals had a date on them that expired circa mid-90’s, so don’t even think about collecting on them now.)
Anyway, the point is, that is the essence of my Thirty to Thirty Campaign for Hubs. Barring the fact that I’m already his personal assistant, I figured I could take it up a (minuscule) notch, for the next month at least. (Sidenote: why isn’t “minuscule” spelled “minIscule”? It makes so much more sense.)
For example, today, I actually put away his clean laundry. As in, into his dresser drawers. I usually stop after sorting, washing, drying, folding (which includes turning socks right-side-in before balling them up), and sorting again into stacks destined for the appropriate drawer. (I just had to point out how good I really am so you can appreciate how much better I’m going to be.) (For thirty days.)
Tomorrow I plan on organizing the wreckage on his dresser (read: throwing away three pounds of outdated receipts). Also, a Snickers bar, a bag of Reese’s Pieces, and possibly a red velvet cake are all bound to make an appearance in these coming days. Okay, so it’s not a surprise trip to Vegas, or a Brand! New! Car! I am, after all, working with a homemaker’s salary here. (Maybe I should start charging Bug some bucks for all those grilled cheese sandwiches.)
Meet the Buttrams 