Disclaimer: I love my fiancé tremendously and am stoked to be marrying him for countless legitimate reasons. There's no need to call in the marriage counselor or anything. But dude, c'mon. I would be completely lying if I said that I wasn't thrilled about these aspects of marriage as well. I am not only gaining a husband; I am gaining the following:
Have you ever cooked a real meal (and by real, I mean Hamburger Helper, of course) for just yourself? Do you know what happens if you decide to forgo pizza rolls for just one night and actually mix ingredients together in a pan on the stove?
Let's be honest: I hardly know what that's like, because (a) I am a horrible cook, and (b) pizza rolls are the greatest food known to mankind and I have no idea why somebody wouldn't want to eat them every single night.
Nonetheless, I'll tell you what happens. You feel really accomplished after cooking your meal, as you should. You eat dinner and think, "Whoa, this is awesome. I have so many leftovers, I won't have to cook again all week!" You put all the leftovers in a multitude of Tupperware containers, and Monday's dinner becomes Tuesday's lunch... which also becomes Tuesday's dinner... which also becomes the food that you pick at for lunch on Wednesday, but don't actually eat because it's your 4th time eating the same meal in less than 48 hours. See the problem?
Solution: get married, obviously. You both get Monday dinner & Tuesday lunch, and then *poof*... the food is gone. Until then, pizza rolls it is.
While we're playing the "Have You Ever" game, let's try this one: Have you ever attempted to carry all of the grocery bags into the house in one trip? Of course you have. BUT have you ever attempted to carry all of the grocery bags across the entire parking lot because you can't get a decent space next to where you actually live... and then proceed to carry all of the grocery bags up three flights of stairs because you insisted on living on the top floor of your apartment?
Ah, additional grocery bag carriers... my mom claims it's a major perk to having children as well. I'm nowhere near that phase of life, though, so one additional grocery bag carrier will have to do.
Of all the incredibly shallow reasons to get married, I think this is definitely the least shallow... am I right? Trust me, I am a pro at freaking myself out at night when I'm all alone in this apartment. I'm sure all the creepy noises will stop after Zach moves in, causing him to think I was simply crazy for being convinced that someone was in the closet / shower / laundry room / etc., but we all know the noises were real.
Look out, bad guys. I'm getting married soon, and my husband can knock you out.
I worried about this constantly while I was away at college. What am I supposed to do if I break down or get a flat while my entire family is 100 miles west and Zach is 150 mile east? (My car battery did die once while I was at Duke, but fortunately, it was in the parking lot of my dorm and I handled it like a champ.) I'm so thankful I'm about to have back-up living in the same city. At this rate, it'll come in super handy when some incompetent Raleigh driver rear-ends me on the Beltline.
Folks, the battery in my smoke detector started dying last night (as I was crawling into bed, naturally). No big deal: I pull out the step-stool / ladder and proceed to unscrew the smoke detector from the ceiling... only to find that the little trap door to the battery is booby trapped. I kid you not. As soon as I read the label warning me that tampering with the battery door would cause a shock hazard (what?!), I dropped everything and sent Zach a picture of the conglomeration of red, white, and black wires hanging from the ceiling.
Fiancé called five seconds later and proceeded to walk me through "removing the A.C. quick connector and opening the access door," whatever that means. All I know is that I'm a rather intelligent individual, but there was nothing intuitive about making that obnoxious beep stop.
He figured all of that out just from looking at a cell phone pic. I'm telling you: that kid is gonna be pretty handy to have around.
No explanation necessary, really.
I've actually become the designated bug-killer at work, because they don't freak me out terribly (spending five summers sleeping in the woods will do that to a person). I don't even kill them; my nature-loving self catches them and takes them outside. But there's something totally different about a bug being in your own place. No, thank you!
While they don't freak me out terribly, they don't freak Zach out at all... and I'm more than happy to relinquish my bug-killing duties once we're married.
This one's a bit of a catch-22, because the fan wouldn't even be on if I wasn't getting married. Let's just make that abundantly clear. However, I am getting married, and Zach has informed me that he cannot sleep unless the fan is on. This is a rather big adjustment for me, but I decided to try sleeping with the fan on to see how it goes.
The result? I wake up in an icebox every morning thinking, "It is way too cold to get out of bed. I can't WAIT until I'm married so Zach can get up first and turn the fan off before I get up." It makes sense, right? If he turns it on, then he gets to brave the arctic blast in the morning to turn it off.
Nose Goes... you know, the game where the last person to touch their nose has to do whatever task everyone is clearly hoping to avoid. The problem with playing "Nose Goes" by yourself is that even if you win, you still have to do the dishes. Or you can refuse to do the dishes, reveling in the fact that you won "Nose Goes," but the dishes will still be there in the morning.
Practice up, Zach Jones. My finger reflexes & I are getting awfully good.
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While working on this post, Zach asked me what I was doing. When I told him that I was working in Illustrator, he asked if Illustrator was "like Paint on steroids." I don't think I've ever loved him more than I did in that moment.