Bad Wife

There's something I forgot to tell you. I'm a bad wife. Well, that's not what I wanted to tell you. That's my lowly opinion of myself after forgetting to tell you something. See number 7812 there? That's my husband. My main squeeze. My consort. The yin to my yang. (Or is he the yang to my yin?) The bacon to my eggs. Ahem.

He ran the 1/4 marathon in Madison, Wisconsin a few days weeks oh hell months ago. And I didn't blog it.
Do you see him? Because I don't. He's in there somewhere. Oh wait - no he's not. He's there, in the long line for the porta-potty. The bucky. The loo. The stink tank. The one-holer. The sh*tter. Ahem.

Hurry, honey! The race is about to start!

He was registered to do the 1/2 marathon, but because of a little thing called a ruptured disc, he opted instead for the 1/4 marathon. Only 6.55 miles or so. A stroll. A walk in the park. A wee minor jaunt. (I'll stop.)

And if forgetting to blog about it wasn't enough - how's this: It took longer for the kids and me to find a coffee joint, grab a cuppa, and find the finish line than for him to finish the bloody race. I'm sure it was a great finish, honey! I'm sure you looked strong at the end! I'm sure it was very, very exciting!

If only we'd seen it.

Don't feel too badly honey - I missed the end of Jonathan's duathlon, too! Does that make you feel better?

No?

Oh.

Does apologizing in front of my readers reader help? Because I'm really really sorry. And we're proud of you! And I'll start working on my coffee-fetching time right away. I'm sure I can shave off a few seconds if I start training now and work really hard.

Ahem.