I elbowed my husband in the mouth yesterday morning.
It all started because I was dreaming that I was in the midst of the Rwandan genocide of ’94 and about to be killed by a large man in army fatigues.
Oh, and I was sitting on a pizza. No clue, people.
As the army man walked toward me, I braced myself for the kill, but knew that I would at least die on the food I love most.
Here he comes…
This is it…
And that’s when Benson kissed me goodbye before leaving for work.
Good thing Benson’s tough.
Speaking of my husband’s courageous acts, last week at the gym while performing a crazy-stupid workout that involved picking up a, like, thousand pound barbell off the floor in a move I like to call, “Are You Trying to Paralyze Me?” Benson broke a record.
I happened to be performing the workout right next to him, except for my bar was closer to twelve pounds and nobody really paid attention to me because I am small and harmless. Instead, all eyes were on Benson as he happens to weigh roughly the same as a Portuguese Water Dog yet has the strength of, say, Hulk Hogan in 1984.
There were only twenty-one seconds left in the workout (they time us which is so relaxing, I swear), and all I heard were screams for Benson.
I glanced over at him between fumbling with my own weight and watched as he attempted to lift a barbell twice his size. I immediately envisioned a future with a quadriplegic husband who happens to not love our cat and dropped my weight in order to put an end to this madness.
The coach yelled, “GO BENSON!” while I ignored my own workout and yelled, “BE CAREFUL! BE CAREFUL! JUST STOP ACTUALLY!”
But he listened to the coach and not me.
And he got a personal record.
No clue what these numbers mean, but apparently his were good.
Here, Benson and our prison camp instructor, Jodie, hug it out after the whole ordeal.
So maybe every once in a while, Benson shouldn’t listen to me after all.
Unless I’m asleep and mumbling about a Rwandan army man. Then he better watch out.
Secret Note: Rwanda is a super cool country today, and with God’s help, Rwandans are putting themselves and their home back together. I traveled there in 2012 and saw lots of precious babies and no angry army men. Unfortunately, I did not see any pizzas either, but I’m willing to let that slide.
Categories: Matrimony
Stuff I Talk About 
Hey JTA, can we still call you that? Maybe not. Is this the first comment?
I wish you’d tell about going to Rwanda some time.
Yes, you can still call me that! 🙂 I just sent you a thousand page email from my time in Rwanda.