Monday confessional: The peace-offering date

That man of mine, I love him so.

(Just thought I'd start out by stating my true feelings for my husband since I'm about to tell a story on the both of us! Good thing we can laugh at ourselves as much as we enjoy laughing at each other ;)

Last Friday Russ had the day off work and spent it packing for another hunting trip. His second trip in two weeks and this time a much longer one. While these trips are planned well in advance and give me plenty of time to gear myself up for winging it alone, I still can get "miffy" when it's time for Russ to leave. As in... "I said it was fine before but now that it's here and it feels like you just came back from the last one, it's NOT fine, doggone-it!"

Those words don't actually come out of my mouth of course, I don't think I even realize I'm feeling that way until I start to get crosser and crosser and suddenly I'm picking fights and being extremely unreasonable. I'm pretty sure Russ can see this coming a mile away because he makes an effort to ward off the storm in the way of some sort of peace-offering.

First off it was a mini-coffee date Friday morning at the school office I was volunteering at. He brought in a delicious coffee for me.
And the dog. Unleashed.
Instant irritation.
Next, he offered to finish packing by dinner time so he could take me out to eat. But he wanted me to arrange the sitter because he was "so busy packing".
I refused in a huff. 

(Am I the hugest brat?)
(I AM THE HUGEST BRAT.)

He chivalrously made the arrangements and offered up a movie out afterwards as well.
I picked a chick flick.

After that I actually felt pretty pleased and looked forward to the evening with great excitement. Until I came home from Kendall's volleyball practice that afternoon and found out Russ had SHAVED OFF ALL HIS HAIR.

Now. In case you forgot about the last time this happened, let me just remind you exactly how I feel about it.

I told him I hated it. He claimed that it was to help his head stay cool while hunting and to this I said, "BUT I HATE IT!"

He just laughed and gave me a hug and a kiss, and said how much he was looking forward to spending time with me on our date and watching the chick flick, and then I sighed and went off to load up the kids in the car to take to their grandparents for the evening while he quickly changed.

So there I am, sitting in the running car with the kids, all ready to go and refusing to let the shaved head ruin my night when out he comes to the car looking casually cute with the one exception of ANKLE SOCKS AND SHEEPSKIN SLIPPERS below his khaki shorts.

"Ummm, NO." I stated bluntly.
"But I can't find my sandals anywhere!" he replied.
"Wear tennis shoes then!" I yelled sweetly replied back.
"I think I packed them" he admitted sheepishly. (As in, at the bottom of a 40-pound hiking backpack that took an hour to get exactly right and can not quickly be taken apart.)

Excitement levels PLUMMETED.
I looked at his feet, looked at the clock, and with a shaking head told him to get in the car.
Oh, Russell.

What's a girl to do? I told him he was simply going to have to lose the socks and wear the suede slippers as loafers, sweaty feet be darned, if he wanted me to even pretend that I knew him. To which he graciously acquiesced, thank goodness, because I'm afraid to say I wasn't even joking a little bit.

At this point it would seem that nothing else could set our date night off worse.

HA.
HAHAHA.

Imagine my pleasure and joy to get out of the car at the restaurant and step behind my husband to see this for the first time:

It appears he missed a spot.
A spot that was much, MUCH more noticeable in person.

Believe me when I say I died, right then and there. DIIIEED.

But you know what's the only thing left to do after dying of mortification? Laugh about it.

So we did. And we had ourselves a dandy date night after all.