Smug Marrieds: Words of Encouragement

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Last night at dinner Blair says, "You need to go back and read your blog entry."

"Which one?" I ask. 

"September 19th." 

"Why?"

"Because that's where you talk about finding your new running mantra of 'I don't stop when I'm tired, I stop when I'm finished.'"

"And...?"

"And you didn't do that at Salem Lake."

"Well that's pleasant," I say. "Would you like me to just bend over so you have a better target for when you kick me again?"

"In fact," Blair said, ignorning me, "Your new mantra should be something like (and here he raised his voice to his high-pitched "Dena voice"), 'I don't stop... unless I get kind of tired or out of sorts or it's, like, really hard or maybe I'm having a bad hair day.'" He took a bite of food and smiled at me. 

"What the hell?" I ask. "Did you drink a bottle of mean juice today?"

"I just think you should be careful of false advertising." 

Actually, I thought of that mantra over and over during the Salem Lake run. I also decided around mile 12, pretty much like Blair said, that I was getting myself a new friggin' mantra. I had a few in mind but I think now I'm going to go with something like:

"Run. Just to show the husband he's not right." 

Cheers,

Dena

The Wasa Cracker Saga

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Light Rye. Best tasting Wasa cracker on the planet. I love Wasa Crackers! I smother them in almond butter or use them in place of sandwich bread for a delicious openfaced (soy) turkey/cheese/lettuce/tomato sandwich. In fact, I decided I wanted this exact sandwich for lunch today. Only there was a problem. We were out of Wasa crackers. 

Well, not out of crackers, but out of opened crackers and it is here that our tale begins. 

Blair (who eats Wasa crackers like it's a competition, stacking one atop the other) and I finished off the open bag of Wasa crackers two days ago. Since then, I've been waiting for him to open the new bag. Waiting... waiting... waiting...

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Smug Marrieds: The Spaghettios Story

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For today's blog, I thought I'd replay a 17-year-old ongoing "discussion" that Blair and I have going and that popped up again this weekend. It revolves around Spaghettios. 

Blair enjoys the occasional can or two of Spaghettios. I have no problem with this. While I've outgrown the taste myself, I remember how much I loved Spaghettios with hotdogs (NOT meatballs - ick, blech!!) as a kid. What I question is the way he prepares them. 

Spaghettios are pre-cooked so all you have to do is heat them up. Which Blair does. Then he leaves them to cool on a plate on the kitchen counter until they return to room temperature. 

"If you like them cold, why not just eat them out of the can?" I ask. 

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Smug Marrieds: We Speak of This To No One

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Thanks to Blair Harris for giving his permission for today's post. 

Blair and I left Virginia Beach last Monday in the pre-dawn hours. Blair had to be back at work that afternoon so we needed an early start. We'd come into VA Beach on 664 off of 58, so we did the opposite going back. Got on 664 and then took the exit for 58. 

Even though it was early and no one was out, I was nervous as we drove through narrow streets in what looked like a bad neighborhood.

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