Yup. Eggs again. I can’t promise this little egg-stravaganza will go all the way through Easter Sunday, but for now, let’s just roll with. After the conversation I had with my husband yesterday, I really don’t have any other option but to keep popping out the egg yolks… for at least a few more days.
If I quit now, it would look like I was backing down. I can’t do that.
To start with, my husband is awesome.
He’s awesome for a whole host of reasons, but for the purpose of this little post, he’s awesome for a lot of bloggy reasons. He’s my website administrator. He fixes any technical mess I might inadvertently make. That’s on top of his regular “real” job. He works hard and rises with the…. (wait for it)…. ROOSTERS.
He is also my number one fan. Literally.
Right after I made my page on Facebook, I logged into my husband’s account and liked it for him. (Admit it, you did the same thing.) I did the same thing on Twitter… and Pinterest. I think he has an Instagram account that I haven’t CRACKED into, but that’s just a matter of time.
Hubby doesn’t read most of my blog posts. He will, if asked, proof read things for me. He will listen to what I read to him as we are driving. He’ll help me filter out the things that really don’t belong on the internet and listens when I HATCH up new ideas. It works for us.
Hubby is not a fan of egg puns.
At some point in the distant past, he could appreciate my descent into madness as I whipped up a few dozen egg yolks… I mean jokes. But now… he just shakes his head and walks away.
After I published yesterday’s post with the super cute lunch box notes, I got a phone call from hubby.
(You know it’s bad when the phone rings. Normally he just texts me.)
(No really, what? I had no idea what I’d done. I was afraid he’d seen a detailed report of this year’s Target purchases.)
Me: Oh, that.
(There may have been a tad bit too much relief in my voice as he said this. He may still want to talk to me about those Target receipts.)
Me: Um… because I can.
(At this point, there was a long silence on the phone. It was the kind of silence where the other person has just enough time to count to ten and pray for patience.)
Him: Just… don’t let it get out of control.
Me: Why? Are you chicken to read them?
I know, I shouldn’t have gone there. It was too soon. My timing was off. But I just couldn’t pass up a CHEEP shot.
(And now you know the real reason behind some of today’s artwork. You probably also know more about my marriage than I really should tell you. Hubby, if you’re reading this… I promise I eggs-aggerated about the Target thing.)
Hubby decided to work late last night. He made it to our son’s 4:30 baseball practice and then headed back to the office. He didn’t get home until 10 last night. This morning, it dawned on me that my husband might actually be avoiding me in an effort to EGGstract himself from any further egg jokes.
See? Eggs are bad for my marriage.
Today’s EGGstra Joke.
This one is in honor of my husband. I may just crack into his Twitter account and send this one out on his behalf. Why? Because I can.
Egg puns are eggscruciating.
If you tweet this, I’ll reply with
I diseggree. They’re eggstraordinary.
@happymomsusan I diseggree. They're eggstraordinary.
— Susan (ThisHappyMom) (@happymomsusan) April 9, 2014
Why? Because I can.