Entries in smug marrieds (139)


Smug Marrieds: A Fitting Year End

Most bloggers round out the year with well wishes for their readers' good health and happiness. Not me. I'm ending with a Smug Married. What can I say? I'm a truth teller. 

Dena, arriving home from her afternoon workout, bursts in the door: Guess what? I deadlifted 185 today at Crossfit. 

Blair: That's great. 

Blair is cleaning the house, so Dena runs upstairs to grab the vacuum to help. On the way back down she accidentally swings the vacuum against the wall, almost taking out a piece of plaster. 

Dena: Oops. 

Blair: Woman, you're lying to me. I know you can't deadlift no 185 pounds when you can't even carry a vacuum down the stairs. 

And so the Smug Marrieds move on to 2013.

From our home to yours,




Smug Marrieds: Pilot Mountain Challenge

At base camp with nowhere to go but up.This weekend Blair and I ran the Pilot Mountain 5-mile Ultimate Challenge. The race started at the campgrounds at Pilot Mountain and the trail wound its way to the peak. 

This marked the first time Blair and I have run a race together. We've been in races together before, but never stayed together. I was a little nervous that we'd end the day chucking pinecones at one another in a passive-aggressive fury. Blair was a little skeptical of the endeavor as well, especially when I kept nudging us closer to the front of the pack at the start line. 

"I like starting in the back," he said, pulling me back as I tried to elbow my way around some teens. "I enjoy going slow. You've got to get your mindset away from racing this thing."

I turned to him, took his hand in mine and gave it a gentle squeeze. "Oh honey," I said. "If I were racing, I would have left you at home." 

We ended up having a great time, even if we didn't necessarily stay together the entire race. About halfway through, Blair got trapped behind a woman who was taking her time going up the mountain. I'd skipped around her earlier, chasing after the guy she'd started with who I'm assuming was her husband. 

Later, when I told Blair he should have gone around her, he jokingly said, "Where I was raised, people have manners. If they hear someone behind them, they step aside to make room without you having to ask."

"You don't have to make a big deal out of it," I said. "Passing is expected. What you should have done is politely tapped her shoulder and said, 'Excuse me, but I believe my wife is up there spanking your husband and I'd like to get around here and do the same to you.'" 

I'm not sure Blair's going to run races with me in the future. I just can't figure out why... 




Smug Marrieds: Face Lift

Sunday night, 5:40 pm. Harris residence. Christmas trees - fired up. Cats - snoozing.

Blair - relaxing in library. Dena - front room watching TV. All is well on nigh. Until...


Dena: Blair! Blair, get in here! Now!

Blair: Why? (He no longer reacts to cries of panic, me having cried wolf one too many times during our many years of marriage. Sad.) 

Dena: I'm getting sucked into an infomercial. My powers to resist are fading. Get in here. 

Blair: What's it for?

Dena: I'm not sure. Some sort of face-lift-botox-stand-in-alternative-to-chemical-peel thingee. You can put it in the freezer. Looks cool. 

Blair: You don't need a face lift. (Sound of Wall Street Journal rustling as he turns a page.)

Click to read more ...


Smug Marrieds: We're Praying For You (Blair)

Driving to Asheville today, Blair at the wheel. The conversation turns (as it always does) to what he has to put up with, being married to me, and how I suspect people pity him on the sly. 

"Admit it," I said. "People are probably walking up to you going, 'You poor man. Here's a dollar. Why don't you buy yourself a coffee and at least get out of the house for a bit?'"

"Nah," Blair drawled in his North Carolina accent. "You forget we live in the Bible belt, sugah. What they usually say is, "We're praying the Lord calls one of you home, son, so you can be released from your pain." 

Almost threw up on myself, laughing. True story. 




Dishpan Hands

Our dishwasher has been leaking sporadically for almost 6 months and finally gave up the ghost this last week, spewing suds out from underneath our kitchen cabinets. We ordered a new dishwasher from Home Depot which was to be delivered this past Thursday. Didn't happen. Received a call saying shipment was delayed and the dishwasher would be here this coming Tuesday.

This means we must--gasp!--wash dishes by hand until then. What's a princess to do? Eat out a lot, is my thought. But there's no escaping the early morning coffee mugs, plates for toast, cereal bowls, omelet pans, and this brief lack-of-dishwasher interlude has uncovered the fact that I use an alarming number of spoons. 

We used to wash dishes by hand when I was a kid so I'm no stranger to manual labor (snort), but having gone years and years without sticking my hands in sudsy water, it's no fun going back. 

Or at least, I think it wouldn't be. So far, Blair has beaten me to the sink and taken care of all dishwashing duties. He's handy that way. And wise. He'd rather wash dishes for 5 minutes then listen to me spend an hour gripping about stupid Home Depot, and stupid delivery people, and stupid dirty dishes piling up in the sink...

God help me if our washing machine or clothes dryer ever goes on the fritz. Scrubbing clothes by hand and hanging them out to dry? Sooooo not the life of a pampered princess. ;)

Now--go hug all your appliances and tell them, "Thank you."