Someone call the blog fuzz, I’ve hijacked blog personality BJW’s dashboard.
Sigh. Here I sit having just come off another grueling, now infamous, two days, two nights, twelve hour shift set with a feeling that can only be compared to a red wine hangover, minus the fun evening that caused it.
With Benjamin now officially out of the country (at the time of this original writing a week ago) and since he’s so freely featured photos of me at 7 am on the way to work , I’ve decided it’s time for my own debut on the blogosphere, to let you all in on a couple top secret secrets that are soon to not be secrets about beloved Ben. You know, the kinds of secrets privy only to wives.
Disclaimer: Don’t expect the same writing caliber as Ben. Ben is funny when he writes, and, as I always tease him, more funny on paper than he is in person. I, on the other hand, am a goof in person and prone to puns. I’m more accustomed to writing dry, technical, boring papers like I did in nursing school, using fluffy academic words like phenomenological and hegemony and talking about airy fairy things like relational narratives from my Self and Others class.
Though, being an ER nurse, I do have plenty of gross stories that, let’s just say, you wouldn’t want to hear at dinnertime.
So, without further ado, and since it’s easier to ask forgiveness than request permission, consider this post the equivalent of the date where the guy’s mom pulls out naked baby pictures.
Top secret number one, the sad blunt truth: Ben cannot cook. Boiling water is a struggle. Microwaving? Doable. At best. At worst, overwhelmingly confused by which containers are microwave safe. Precise orders a must when anything needs to go from the freezer (God forbid) to the oven for dinner. Timers, bells, whistles and alarms must be set unless you enjoy blackened casserole, grind-your-teeth-to-pegs pizza, or dry-as-a-mud-puddle-in-the-desert enchiladas.
But he tries. Sincerely.
Our first official date, Ben tried to impress with a homemade breakfast one early, Saturday morning in Port Townsend whilst he was house-sitting. Ben went very early to Safeway and bought an entire grocery shelf, enough for ten breakfasts. (Strange, I’ve never known Ben to go overboard.) Crossaints, bear claws, cereal, granola, orange juice and champagne for mimosas, strawberries, bananas, melons, grapes, donuts, milk, cream and whipping cream ( because he heard on special occasions I actually eat my cereal with cream...don’t tell my mother, she didn’t know why she was always out of cream for coffee). But the main attraction, besides, ahem, our attraction for each other, was to be freshly made ham, cheese, bell peppers and mushroom omelletes. Uno problemo: Ben had never cooked an omelette in his life.
As I watched him fumble through preparations, set the frying pan smoking, barely whisking the eggs, unevenly chopping vegetables, and proceeding to place them raw in the omelette, it occurred to me that just maybe, he was in over his head.
So I took over.
And haven’t stopped.
A saving grace, Ben does make a mean mashed potato, heaps and mounds and mountains of mashed potatoes. In fact, when Ben makes mashed potatoes we eat them for a week, breakfast, lunch and dinner.
Top secret number two: Strange sleep habit. Warm milk, cozy pajamas, folding down the sheets, turning out the lights, just writing it makes me sleepy. Works for me. Not Ben
For the more needy and sleep deprived, chill pills and tranquilizers do the trick. Gravol (Dramamine in the US), Benadryl, Immovane, Ativan, and serax (this is not a prescription, see a doctor). Not Ben.
Ben’s regimented nightcap: full glass of water (he’s paranoid of muscle cramps) and, especially, a movie. Unable to drift into the land of peaceful dreams, rolling waves on sandy beaches and finished novels, Ben instead, takes comfort in the serenity of blasting guns, slashing swords, perilous dangers, thunderous aircraft, and the great acting skill of none other than Harrison Ford. For some reason, Harrison Ford movies top the list of Ben’s most beloved Zonkers. I have personally watched the first ten minutes, in silence, of Clear and Present Danger more times than I have digits. And Dr. Richard Kimble in the Fugitive is as good as a mobile above his crib. I guess there’s just something about the chiseled chin of HF that coaxes Ben into sweet slumber. ( Other soothers, Thirteen Days, about the Cuban missile crisis, Master and Commander, and The Fog Of War, a documentary about the Cold War)
Thank goodness he has the decency to wear ear phones.
Top unsecret number one: Ben would do anything for the people he loves. Ben has the biggest heart of anyone I have ever met. His quirky ways, though on certain days drive me CRAZY, most of the time make me laugh. And laughing is the best way to get through life.
Thanks Benjamin for being you. I love you.
Signed, The Blog Bandit, aka The Impossible Whipped Lash, aka Amy Irene Watson