Girlfriends vs. Husband

Well I was all ready to go out with some girlfriends last night for dinner when the decided on location was the ill-fated Juan’s Mexican Restaurant. Bleck!

This put me in quite a precarious position.

You see, Juan’s is high on my husband’s likeable restaurant and it is probably at the bottom of mine. But a long, long time ago at some point in our relationship, I made a big stink about never wanting to go to Juan’s again. I had gotten sick from eating there and almost lost a shoe to the floor when leaving (you know like the Mall Trio $1 movie place?). For me Juan’s = Yuck. So it was agreed that I would never have to set foot in that place again and Mike was free to go with friends or on his lunch break. Whatever, just don’t drag me there. We even had an agreement with another couple who felt the same way – she loves the place he hates it with a passion – the next time Sheri and Mike have a hankering – they go to Juan’s, and Jim and Meghan go to a Pho place. Win win!

So what was I to do yesterday? They voted to go to Juan’s? Hold up my end of the bargain with my husband and miss girl’s night? Or slink in with my tail between my legs and ask hubby for a reprieve? Dilemma dilemma.

So I decided to stand my ground and not subject myself to IBS inducing foods (and the worry I would have to go there again with husband) and told the girls alas, I could not go to Juan’s because of aforementioned rant.

But wonderful girlies they are (and smart medically minded as well) we changed locales to La Huerta and had a fab time and all was well. Turns out I wasn’t the only one who had a “bad experience” there.

So I explained this funny ha ha story to my husband and he looked at me and said “Really? I don’t remember that. You could have gone. I wouldn’t have said anything – well yea I would. Why is it again you don’t like Juan’s? That sounds pretty good.”

Laundry – The Epic Battle between Woman and Mountain

Ugh . . . need I say more? If the act of just doing the laundry isn’t bad enough, why must is throw such riddles and complex problems that must be solved before you can load the machine. I am not talking the simple act of sorting or the negotiation with the laundry gods about combining inappropriate pieces that might not mix well when wet. No, I’m talking about the forever dilemma of about to put a load in and realizing you are wearing something that should be going in with said load. That just drives me nuts. Nothing like working on a load of “whites” (we aren’t talking undies, we are talking about Mom’s white t-shirts and Dad’s white oxfords – the whites you really hope stay white – not the ones you sacrifice to the laundry gods mixed with gym socks, boxer shorts and sports bras) for a couple of weeks only to realize you are wearing not only a white t-shirt but a white bra that really should go in the load or wait another couple of weeks while you build the load once more.

So what do you do? Go around topless for the rest of the night? Just free ball it? change and dirty a colored t-shirt instead or just hope you’ll get a “small load” in sometime soon? Dilemma, dilemma. There has to be an old wives tale here somewhere, doesn’t there?  Red sky at morn, sailor forlorn, Red sky at night, sailor’s delight? With my luck it would turn out to be something like – No bra tonight, knocked-up just right.

The load is in and I won’t tell you what I decided. Let’s just hope you don’t figure it out in nine months!