Ahhh, Seattle. Where to begin? I missed you all so much, that I’d like to relive my whirlwind tour of the Pacific Northwest by taking you along with me, step by step. From airport to hotel, hotel to client, client to hotel, hotel to airport, airport to airport, and airport to home. I just wish you hadn’t packed so much luggage. What, were you planning on moving to Washington?
So let’s begin: okay, so I’m not really in Seattle yet. In fact, I’m nowhere near Seattle. I’m sitting at Gate L4 in O’Hare, killing time now that I’ve arrived two hours prior to departure, and exposing my nether regions to untold volumes of radiation seeping out of my laptop. That’s okay, odds are, I’m probably not going to be using these eggs anytime soon.
I know I’m here really early. I can’t help it. There’s nothing I hate more than rushing to the airport, stressing out about possibly missing my flight. Well, I suppose there are a few things I hate more than that, like maybe irradiating my ovaries, or eating beef with noodles, but right now, my priorities are a bit skewed.
In preparation for my trip to Mecca, I decide to test out an O’Hare Starbucks latté so I can compare it to a Seattle Starbucks latté once I arrive. I am expecting to have my mind thoroughly blown once I step off the plane in Seattle. Do they have Starbucks vending machines? That would really be something. I don’t think it will be too hard to top this one, since the barista-in-training first made my latté with caffeine instead of without, and then on his second attempt, he gave me whole milk instead of skim. I don’t really object to the whole milk, since I’m from Wisconsin, and therefore have the ability to drink milk straight out of a cow’s udder if I’m thirsty enough.
Okay, I’ve never really seen a cow’s udder, but if someone dared me, I might drink some milk out of one. If it was squirted into a Black Russian. Come to think of it, isn’t there an actual drink that’s made with scotch and milk, or did I just make that up? I should know since Natasha and I took bartending classes together. But I’m getting a little off topic here. The point I’m trying to make is that all my research indicates that a latté should be 25-47% better in Seattle than in Chicago. And if it isn’t, you can believe I’ll be writing a letter to a certain CEO of a certain coffee company.
While waiting at the gate, I witness a reunion of sorts, as a giggly young woman, about nineteen years old, recognizes the woman standing by the gate as a former classmate of her older sister.
“Oh my god! Didn’t you go to school with my sister Rhonda? Ha ha ha! What are you doing here? Ha ha ha!”
The woman looked a little uncomfortable with this display of unbridled giggling, wiped the corners of her mouth with her hand, and said, “Yes, I remember Rhonda.”
And, although she was dressed in an Alaska Airlines uniform, the woman felt compelled to answer the giggly girl’s question, so she gestured to her outfit, raised her eyebrows, and said, “I work here.”
“Oh – so are you a stewardess? Ha ha ha.”
The woman adjusted the strap on her briefcase, smiled and said, “They don’t call us ‘stewardesses’ anymore.”
“Ha ha ha! What do they call you?”

“Flight attendants.”
“Oh. Ha ha ha!”
Later I glanced over and saw the young girl enthusiastically teaching the flight attendant how to crochet. The giggly girl is actually quite sweet.
A dapper man in a grey fedora was standing near the garbage can, looking around suspiciously. He pulled something out of his bag, looked around again, and kneeled down by the garbage can. As I looked up, I noticed that he had slapped a giant sticker advertising some website onto the garbage can. I took note of the URL and will look it up later.
In preparation for my long trip, I walk over by the bathrooms and plug my laptop into the only available outlet in all of O’Hare. A woman with short black hair and an iPod starts pacing in front me, looks nervously at her watch, and asks me if I’m going to be using the outlet for very long.
I told her that my laptop battery was down to 18%, and I was about to go on a four-hour flight, so I kind of needed to charge up. I felt slightly guilty about my non-charitable response, particularly since my laptop was actually at 32%, but what’s more important – writing blogs, or listening to U2? I don’t think there’s much debate there.
The man standing behind the counter at the gate grabs the microphone and announces that our flight will be delayed approximately one hour, due to weather problems. His eyes glance to the left as he says this, so I am certain that this is a lie, but have no choice but to begrudgingly accept his deception.
Once my laptop is charged up, I wonder if the giggly girl would teach me how to crochet?

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I have never really considered myself much of a risk-taker. Sure, I’ll abandon the occasional job without another one lined up during the worst recession my generation has ever seen, and once I bought and ate a cheesesteak from a guy standing on the side of the road, but for the most part, I like to play it safe. I always wear my seatbelt, avoid standing near trees during a thunderstorm, and never mix ammonia with bleach. So that’s why I still can’t figure out what daredevil spirit possessed me this weekend when I decided to do something that nearly cost me my life:
I went to a Toys ‘R Us at 11:00am on the last shopping weekend before Christmas. By myself.
I am a horrible procrastinator when it comes to holiday shopping, so I pretty much had to complete 90% of my shopping this weekend.
Since the list of presents for my nephews didn’t seem too intimidating, I wasn’t overly concerned:

1. Adam – Army guys and Lego’s
2. Elliott – Yu Gi Oh! and science stuff
I’m going to a Toys ‘R Us, for crying out loud – how hard can it be to find these items? Oh, silly little Jenny. Was I ever really that naïve?
First stop, army stuff. Adam likes battleships and army guys, so I headed straight for the G.I. Joe section. To my right were the little G.I. Joe action figures – they were all displayed in nicely sealed two-packs: one good guy and one bad guy in each. I grabbed the first one I saw – G.I. Joe vs. Venom – and although it looked pretty cool, I suddenly noticed the pack that was hiding behind the first one I grabbed. Wait! That one seemed even cooler because the one guy had a mask, and the other guy had a saber. Stop the press! The one underneath that one was better yet because the one guy had a grenade launcher and the other guy had antennas. Hold the phone…
Overwhelmed by the options, I threw all of the little G.I. Joe’s to the side and looked to my left, where all the big G.I. Joe’s resided. The first one I grabbed was the talking G.I. Joe. Let me tell you – the times, they are a changing. When I was a kid, talking dolls had a string in their back that you pulled, and a few different mechanical phrases came oozing out of some holes in their stomach. Eventually, the string snapped and you were left with a mute doll that looked like it had been blasted in the belly with a sawed off shotgun.
Now, the latest Talking G.I. Joe actually has a mouth that moves when you press his chest. I know what you’re all saying – “That sounds so cool!” Hold on to that thought for a minute, because you may reconsider. Here’s the thing – when you press Joe’s chest, his mouth actually opens, and he utters one word. Then you press his chest again and his mouth opens, and he utters one more word. Repeat this process three more times and you have just heard the creepiest sentence ever spoken.
Joe’s dead blue eyes stare through you as his cavernous mouth gapes open, and he says:
“We.”
[press again – demon mouth opens]
“Must.”
[press again – demon mouth opens]

“Defeat.”
[press again – demon mouth opens]

“Venom.”

[press again – demon mouth opens]

“Now.”

I was thoroughly traumatized by this evil G.I. Joe, and vowed never to inflict his terror upon my nephews. I let my mom buy it for them instead.
I decided to hold off on the army guys, and look for some of the educational toys that Elliott had requested. He’s a boy genius, so he asked for some LeapPad Magic School Bus Does Trigonometry thing. When I asked for some assistance, a poorly paid and under-enthused stock boy grunted in the general direction of the Imaginarium Station, which is where all the smart toys are located.
I’m not sure if it’s intentionally designed this way, perhaps so that you can never escape, but the Imaginarium Station is laid out much like the hedge maze in The Shining. I walked down one corridor and found all the overpriced LeadPad books. Then a left turn took me to the science section, littered with telescopes and Sea Monkeys. Another left turn and I wound up near the Dora the Explorer Vocabulary Builder section. A quick right led me straight into LegoLand, which is directly in front of Cheap Lego Knock-Off Land.
Wait – did my brother say Elliott likes astronomy or geology? Does he like bugs, or was that last year? Are Pokémon and Hi Hi Puffy Amiyumi the same thing?
With each wrong turn, I started to feel my body temperature rise, partly because I still had on my huge winter coat and a turtleneck sweater. A steady trickle of sweat began to drip down my back, as my breathing became more and more shallow.
Over the loudspeakers blared the shrill voices of children singing on the Nickelodeon Christmas Album, interrupted only by the squawking commands of Toys ‘R Us cashiers looking for price checks and stockboys.
“Christmas, Christmas time is here. Time for joy and time for chee- ANGELA PLEASE REPORT TO THE CUSTOMER SERVICE DESK IMMEDIATELY. ANGELA TO THE CUSTOMER SERVICE DESK -I still want a hula hoop!”

My vision started to dim, and my mouth got very dry, so I knew I needed to get some fresh air quickly. I turned left to exit the Imaginarium Labyrinth and ran head on into a woman and her four children arguing over which Lego set to buy. When I spun around to avoid them, I was trapped by three people waiting in line to do price checks at the self scanner.
As I struggled to squeeze my body between an overloaded shopping cart and a Lincoln Log display, I felt my arms go limp and my knees start to buckle. My last words before hitting the ground were, “Yu Gi Ohhhhhh…”
I’m not sure how long I was out, but when I woke up, all I could make out was something red and furry chuckling and moving toward me. I rubbed my eyes and said, “Santa? Is that you? I… I’ve been good this year. Did you get my letter?”
When I wiped the drool off my cheek and put my glasses back on, I saw that it wasn’t Santa moving toward me, but a sale bin of Hokey Pokey Elmos that I must have set off on my way down.
I brushed myself off and stumbled toward the nearest exit, revived by the blast of wintry air that met me. Once I made it back home, I did what I should’ve done all along – stayed inside the confines of my home and purchased all my gifts online. Clearly, if the good lord had intended me to interact with live human beings, he wouldn’t have given me DSL and a secure Visa card.

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I’m not proud of what I’m about to tell you, but I feel like I need to bring you up to speed on some recent changes in my life. During my business trip, I cheated on my husband. I never thought I would meet someone who excited me as much as Orangehat does, but sometimes life throws you a curveball and you just have to make lemonade.
His name is Seattle, and I love him more than I’ve ever loved anyone in my life.
I just never thought my life would end up this way. I take marriage very seriously, and once I commit, I commit wholeheartedly. But things have been a little rocky between Orangehat and me lately – he seems distant, silent, absent. Sometimes I look at him on the train and wonder who he is. It’s almost like looking into the eyes of a stranger.
Next week will reveal all the intimate details of my love affair, but I just wanted to make sure that you heard this first from me, and not through the tabloids. This isn’t just a casual fling – it was truly love at first sight – I fell head over heels for Sea (that’s my nickname for him). I can’t say that I feel good about the fact that I’m throwing away everything Orangehat and I have built together this year, but I just wasn’t feeling fulfilled in that relationship. Sometimes you have to take risks in life and follow your heart.
In fact, I really have my co-worker Tiffany to thank for my newfound bliss. Throughout the whole trip, I kept telling her how much I loved the city. So at one point, out of sheer frustration, she turned to me and said, “Well if you love Seattle so much, why don’t you just marry it?”
Marry it? Me and Seattle? Hitched?
A few scotches and a blood test later, I found myself at the Seattle Courthouse, waiting behind two fuchsia haired teens, one of whom looked to be pregnant. Before I signed the papers, I grabbed Seattle’s hand, turned to him, and said, “Babe, are you sure about this? I’ve got baggage, you know. I’ve got flaws. I’ve got a husband back home. I mean, are we really ready for this kind of commitment? I just don’t want you to ever regret…”
Seattle held my face in his gentle hands, put his finger to my lips, and said, “Shhh. Jenny, look at me. Look at me – I’ve never been more ready in my life. If I can wake up next to you every day for the rest of my life, I’ll be the happiest city in the world.”
My mind is swirling right now, so I can’t write much more. I’ll fill you all in next week, but right now, I’ve got to start planning our honeymoon – we’re going to Portland!

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So I’m off to Seattle for the rest of the week, reprising my former role as corporate jetsetter extraordinaire. When the flight attendants offer me some tomato juice in a tiny cup of ice, I’m going to tell them, “You know what? This is on my company’s dime – just give me the whole can! And let’s make that TWO bags of pretzels, shall we?” And then I will twirl the ends of my mustache and throw my head back as I laugh.
I feel a little bad about leaving you all alone, so while I’m gone, I’d like to encourage you to spend some time with a few of the brilliantly hilarious and disturbingly intelligent folks over on the right hand side. Or you can just play minesweeper. Your call.
But as you stray from my warm embrace, please remember one thing:
No one will ever love you like I do.

Do you hear me?! No one!!
Oh sure, you may seem like the perfect couple, with your fancy house and trend-setting hairdos, but she’s so busy advancing her career and partying it up in London, do you really think she’s ever going to want to start a family? She sees you as an anchor around her neck. You know it’s true.
I can see it in your eyes – you want so desperately to take some time off and be a father. I’ll find time for you, baby. We’ll have so many kids that we’ll run out of names. Twins run in my family – you want twins, don’t you? You were so good to Julia when she was pregnant with hers.
Don’t shut me out, dammit! I will not be ignored!
…
Oops, oh crap. I’m sorry guys. I must have accidentally merged this blog with my letter to Brad Pitt. Boy is my face red – sorry for the confusion! Please disregard.
Well, um, I guess I should go. See you next week!

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What exactly do you say when your co-worker catches you picking a fight with your ultra-slow laptop at the end of the day?

Me (softly to computer, unaware that I’m saying this aloud): “Jesus! What part of ‘shut down’ do you not understand?!”

Him (channeling all his best South Side machismo): “Your computer giving you lip? You want I should take him outside?”

I guess it’s nice to know that someone’s got my back, even if it is against a Dell.

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I saw my husband on the train again last week. We did our usual routine – sat near each other, enjoying each others’ company, and feeling really good about the fact that we never feel obligated to fill silence with any sort of conversation. We’re just that comfortable together. That’s one of my favorite things about him.
As we walked home, I turned to go to my car and Orangehat kept walking straight ahead. For a moment, I thought about following him, just to see where we live. I can’t help but be a little curious.
Do we have a house? One of those nice condos with the balcony? Gosh, that would be nice. I’d love to plant some flowers out there in spring.
I decided against following him since I didn’t want to miss the beginning of Survivor Vanuatu – Islands of Fire. Plus, it was kind of raining out, and my hair started to frizz. Until he knows we’re married, I always want him to see me at my best.
Over the weekend, I was telling my friend Penny about my beau and how I thought about following him home.
Me: “I mean, if I just follow him silently to see where he lives and what kind of car he drives, and he never knows I’m doing it, that’s not really stalking, right? I’m only doing this so that we can be together.”

Penny: “Mmmm… that’s actually the definition of stalking.”
Me: “It is?”
Penny: “Yes.”
Me: “Oh.”
[reflective pause]
Me: “So then that would be a bad idea?”
Penny: “Right.”
This is why it’s important to run major decisions past an objective friend. Sometimes what seems like an innocent idea turns out to be a Class 2 misdemeanor.

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[Sung to the tune of LL Cool J’s, “Going Back to Cali”]

I’m going to Seattle, Seattle, Seattle.
I’m going to Seattle… hmmm, I don’t think so.
That’s right, I’m off to sunny Seattle next week for my first work trip at the new job. Can’t screw this one up – got a lot riding on it.
Actually, I’m really excited to go. Not only is this my first business trip in a long time, but it’s my first trip to Seattle ever. I haven’t really been anywhere on the West Coast, unless Vegas counts. I don’t know why I’ve never made it out West yet. I guess the flights are just so darn long – I figure if I’m going to be in a plane for 4 ½ hours, I’m more than halfway to Europe, so I might as well head in that direction instead.
Plus, I was never all that great with geography, so everything gets kind of sketchy for me once you get past Minnesota. I know there are a bunch of square states in the middle of the country, but from there it’s a bit of a blur. And growing up in Wisconsin next to Lake Michigan, my internal compass gets really screwed up if the water isn’t to the east of me.
But that’s all going to change for me next week. I’m packing up the covered wagon and heading out West. I may not know much, but I’ve heard enough about Seattle to know that it’s home to some of the country’s most exciting and recognizable landmarks. Since I know I will have a limited amount of free time while I’m in there, I’ve made a list of all the critical things I want to do:
1. Ride the roller coaster that goes around the top of the Space Needle.
2. Spend a few hours at StarbucksLand, home of the world’s largest free-standing latté.
3. Take the trolley down to the Golden Gate Bridge.
4. See if my hands fit inside of Angelina Jolie’s handprints at Grauman’s Chinese Theatre.
Yes, Seattle is such a diverse state that I’m sure I’ll have no problem finding loads of amazing activities to fill my evenings.
Of course, this trip can’t be all fun and games. I suppose I really should start planning out more of the “business” part of my business trip. I wonder if we can hold our client meetings at the bar where “Cheers” was filmed?

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Oh, I have such exciting news to share! News of a project so important that it could change my life forever and perhaps alter the course of Chicago history. It’s still in the conceptual stage, but I’ve got an exciting idea I’m working on.
But before I tell you, you must swear to me that you won’t let this idea leak out. If this gets out, it’ll only be a matter of time before some idea robbers snatch it up and take it for themselves. Swear to me!
Okay, now that I can trust that this will go no further than this unsecured web connection, here’s the idea that struck me like a ton of bricks as I was riding the Metra home yesterday: I’m opening an art gallery.
[cricket. cricket.]
No, wait! Don’t go! It’s gonna be cool, really! This isn’t just any art gallery, but one dedicated to folks like you and me – the commuters. Initially it will feature found objects, but as word spreads – and I know it will – I will no doubt be flooded with requests from urban artists, dying to show their work in my prestigious gallery.
I’m calling it: the MetraPolitan Museum of Art.
Currently, my gallery is located in the trunk of my Honda Civic. Right now admission is free, with $5 donations suggested and appreciated. Hours of operation are 6:30pm-6:45pm M-F. Once I build up enough of a following, I will move my gallery to its permanent home: an abandoned rail car. I’m not sure where I might find said train car, or how much one would cost, or where I would put it, but it has to be in a Metra car.
For now, I’m working a collage entitled, “Discarded Ten Passes.” It’s a biting commentary on our workaholic lifestyle and throw-away culture. Although not yet complete, the work has received wild praise from renowned art critics Punch and Judy. In fact, upon viewing my initial sketches for the collage, Judy was so moved that she vomited right on my sketch pad. I can only hope that all my patrons respond to my art in such a visceral manner.
As soon as I hear back on my NEA grant, I’ll begin accepting applications for docents. I’m looking for some highly qualified candidates, so here’s a brief job description:
Position: Docent at MetraPolitan Museum of Art
Successful candidate will:

• Look good in train conductor uniform
• Be able to project voice loudly
• Have prior experience riding a train
• Possess proven hole punching skills
• Own comfortable shoes
• Be passionate about art, as it relates to rapid transit

Interviews will take place at Union Station on Track 14 between 5:41pm and 5:48pm each Wednesday.

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Sometimes, the harder I try to fit in, the more it backfires on me. Last Wednesday, Seamus invited me over to play poker with the boys. I hadn’t played poker for months, so I was both excited and nervous about my return to dark underworld of illegal gaming.
Aware that I would be the only woman in a group of seven men, I knew I had something to prove. I had to prove that I knew how to play Texas Hold ‘Em. I had to prove that I could cuss like a sailor. And I had to prove that I could hold my scotch.
See, the reason I haven’t played poker in several months is because Natasha and I were blacklisted due to the fatal error we committed the last time we played at Seamus’ house: we brought homemade cupcakes.

It seemed like such a good idea at the time. Nat and I decided we wanted to bring something other than a bag of chips and some beer, so we figured, what the heck, everyone loves a good cupcake, right? We attempted to decorate them like playing cards, but that didn’t really work out, so they just ended up with some black and red sprinkles on them. But they were really quite tasty, honest!
I hadn’t even made it through the doorway carrying the tray of treats when Seamus said, “What the hell are you doing? Get those cupcakes out of my house!”
Apparently eating dainty snack cakes is not seen as a manly thing to do during a serious game of poker. Plus they didn’t really taste that good with Glenfiddich on the rocks. Live and learn.
So this time I was prepared – I brought a six-pack of beer and some pretzels. No sissy light beer or chi-chi sourdough pretzel nuggets. Just good old Heineken and some pretzel rods. I debated over the pretzel rods, but then determined that they would go over well since they looked kind of like cigars. I was right. Men love their cigars and cigar substitutes.
As I sat at the card table, the window behind me was open and it was freezing outside, but hell if I was going to be the one to say anything about it. I’d sooner let my eyeballs freeze open than complain like a little girl about it being too cold. I could not risk being blacklisted again. Fortunately, after about an hour of icy wind blowing in, one of the guys put on his winter coat because we could see our breath, so I took that as my cue to be nice and shut the window. For his sake, of course.
We started playing cards, and everything was going pretty well. I won a few hands, knew when to hold them and when to fold them, and started amassing a decent stack of chips. But then my proverbial house of cards came tumbling down around me.
The phone rang, and since Seamus was already out that round, he took the call. It was our friend, Dr. Greene, the renowned human cloning specialist. I heard them chatting in the background, but didn’t pay much attention. Then I heard Seamus say, “Yeah, Jenny’s here. What? Hold on, I’ll tell her.”
“Jen – Dr. Greene wants me to tell you that Norelle’s gone, whatever that means.”
I leapt up, almost knocking over my beer and screamed, “Ohmigod, she is?! YES!! I hated her!”
Everyone became deathly silent, and just stared at me as I stood there red-faced, clutching a semi-crushed pretzel rod in my hand.

”Who’s Norelle? Is that the girl Dr. Greene was dating?”
“Uhh, no.”
“Oh – is she that co-worker of his?”
“Uhh, no.”
“Well who is it?”
“Uhh… nobody. It doesn’t matter. Hey, is it my deal? Don’t blinds go up now? Anybody need another beer?”
Norelle. Why did he have to bring her up now? Why, Dr. Greene? Couldn’t you have waited until I got home that night? Couldn’t you have just emailed me or left me a voice mail? An entire evening worth of hard work spent rebuilding my credibility was almost thrown out the window, all because the good doctor couldn’t keep his gene splicing lips zipped.
Most of you, I’m sure, have no idea who Norelle is, nor do you care. It’s only the sick, shameful individuals, like Dr. Greene and me, who are intimately familiar with that name:

Norelle is a woman who is no longer in the running toward becoming America’s next top model.
You see, sometimes Dr. Greene and I like to watch America’s Next Top Model on Wednesdays – okay we always like to watch it, are you happy now? – and Norelle is a really annoying person on the show who finally got kicked off. Hearing of her demise made me totally forget where I was, and what I was trying to accomplish that evening. I was unable to contain my excitement, and almost blew my entire cool girl cover.
I don’t know, I guess I can’t really blame Dr. Greene. It’s not his fault that we’re hopelessly addicted to the worst best TV show in existence. I just need to get a better grip on my emotions when I know I’m around people who wouldn’t understand.
Now I can only hope that most of the guys forgot my erratic outburst and didn’t catch the reference to America’s Next Top Model. I guess only time will tell – we’ll see if I get an invite next month to poker night. I just pray it’s not on a Wednesday night again.

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I met my husband on the train today. We were sitting next to each other when another woman came over and sat in between us. As the train conductor came by, the woman frantically looked for her December monthly pass, but couldn’t find it. She dug through her wallet and only came up with $2, but the fare during rush hour is $4. It was clear that the conductor didn’t care to hear that her December pass was still in the envelope on her kitchen table. He just stood in front of us stone-faced as he fidgeted with his hole punch.
That’s when my husband stepped in – he pulled out his 10-fare pass and told the conductor to take an extra punch. The woman was shocked and extremely grateful. When she handed my husband her $2, he refused to take it.
“Don’t worry about it. I hardly ever use the punch card anyway.”
Turns out he had forgotten his December pass, too.
I don’t know my husband’s name yet, but for now I’m calling him Orangehat Goatee. He has everything that a woman could ever want in a husband – he’s kind-hearted, generous, and attractive. He’s clearly intelligent because he knew enough to keep a spare 10 pass in his wallet for this very occasion. I assume he has a job, since he had a briefcase and was taking the train from downtown. And when he got off at my stop, he was blocks ahead of me in no time, so he’s clearly in good physical condition.
I love him so much. Sometimes it hurts just to think about it.
I haven’t told Orangehat that we’re married yet. I want to wait a while – maybe like a year or so – before I let him know. I know that sometimes guys can get a little spooked by the whole marriage thing, so I don’t want to stress him out during that touch-and-go first year of marriage. We’ll just keep going along with the status quo for the next 12 to 14 months. Riding the train together. Walking home together. Living life together.
Then, once I finally tell him that we’re married, if he freaks out, I’ll calm his fears by letting him know that we’ve already been married for a whole year. We will have gotten through that “getting to know you” year without a hitch.
“Orangehat, what are you getting so upset about? Baby, we’ve been married for over a year now, and has it affected your life negatively in any way? Name one thing that this marriage has prevented you from doing. You can’t, can you? I never stopped you from hanging out with your friends, staying out late, or dating other women. I haven’t nagged you to do more work around the house, or pressured you into starting a family. The only thing that’s changed is that you’ve been unconditionally loved and supported for the past year. How can that be wrong?”
I don’t see any holes in that argument, so I cannot imagine how this plan could fail. But now, when I finally tell him next year, do we buy each other wedding gifts or anniversary gifts? Doesn’t matter – I just cannot wait to let everyone know that I am Mrs. Jenny Goatee. Or maybe I should hyphenate: Mrs. Jenny Onassis-Goatee.
Oh yeah, if any of you know Orangehat, please don’t congratulate him on his marriage to me. Not until next year. I don’t want to mess up the best thing that’s ever happened to me.

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