It’s 9:15 p.m. and my husband is eating pickles.
He also ate them for breakfast this morning.
I think he might be pregnant.
Apparently, changing your last name from “Holden” to “Soltys” means more than learning to write a different grouping of letters on my checks. It also means I go from bringing “snacks, dips and chips” to the annual church picnic (those with last names starting with A through H) to bringing a dessert (those with last names starting with Q through Z).
I’m excited to get married and all, but it’s a bummer that people now expect me to bake something to bring to the party.
Just took a nice big bite out of my apple and a slightly smaller bite out of its sticker.
“What’re you thinking about?” I asked.
To which he responded, “Math” and went on to explain how he’d been working on a single, tremendously involved problem all day, how he’d gone down one rabbit trail searching for an unknown only to realize he should have been focusing on a different aspect of the equation.
I shook my head, amazed at how brilliant this man sitting before me is. And how patient. How anyone can have the fortitude to spend the whole day on a single analysis is beyond me.
When the bill came later on, Mike, like the Southern gentleman that he is, gave the waitress his credit card for her to run it through the machine.
She returned a few moments later with the “merchant copy” for him to sign and a pen. He looked at the numbers and hesitated. Five, 10, 15 seconds … I glanced at the $33.30 sum and said, “Six bucks and 60 cents is 20 percent.”
He smirked at me and began to add. He wrote something down, looked up at the ceiling, looked over at me, back down at the paper, up at me. He scribbled something out and rewrote something different.
“I miscalculated,” he said.
There’s no doubt in my mind that Mike is a genius … most of the time.