The Perils of Writing a Column

Between you and me, I felt rather good about myself in my Easter Sunday dress.  Form-fitting enough to really showcase my bump, but also cute enough to make me feel like a stylish mama.  No small feat six months into pregnancy.

I bounced — okay, waddled — down the stairs, prepared to welcome the compliments my husband surely would heap on me.  Instead I was greeted by silence, a silence broken only by the tap-tap-tap of Mr. Candy’s fingers playing his favorite computer addiction, er… game.   I, with absolutely no pride, made a point of “casually” hanging out by the TV, a place I knew his eyes would eventually land.

And… succcess!  A wide smile crossed my hubby’s face.

“My shirt is perfect for Easter, isn’t it?” he asked, clearly impressed with himself.

Was this guy serious?

“Yeah.  Perfect.”

I continued to stand there, waiting.  La-di-da.  Now, I am not usually the kind of woman who seeks validation.  The words “How does this make me look” have rarely, if ever, escaped my lips.  But I AM A HORMONAL PREGNANT LADY WHOSE BODY IS CHANGING EVERY DAY, DAMMIT!  It’s a weird thing to deal with.  Wonderful, but weird.  Just throw a few scraps of praise my way, please.  Please?  Sincerity not required.  I even tried to help him out:

“My pink ribbon is very Easter-like, too, don’t you think?”

“Yes — AND you’re shaped like an Easter egg!”

Oh yes, he did.  Followed by a guffaw.  So I did the only thing I could, and scorched an Easter egg-sized hole into Mr. Candy’s head with my no-fail Laser Stare of Death.

“I’m kidding!” he insisted.  “I just say these things for your column!”

Yeah, mmm-hmmm.   Actually, my hubby is a kindhearted goofball and self-professed “laugh slut,” so I was inclined to believe him.  Not laugh, but believe. However, it dawned on me that this column has — oy — bestowed Mr. Candy with a free pass to passively-aggressively lob insults and claim immunity because he’s “just helping me do my job.”  I processed this development, thoughtfully rubbing my big belly, and said to myself:

“Huh.  That’s pretty damn clever.  Well-played, Mr. Candy.  Well-played, indeed.”

That is, until this Easter Egg cracks!