The other night, while I was putting together the second post about Nick's room, my wife was lying next to me, reading my words as I laid them down. She had a smirk on her face - not a nasty, cynical one but rather one of curious amusement.
"What's up?", I asked.
"I just don't understand you.", she said.
"Really?", I said. "What does that mean?"
"Just you. You're almost 40, married, have a respectable job and you're well respected. You're a father raising three kids, you have a house, a mortgage and yet, the top of your blog is a picture of you eating a whiskey bottle. You're like a teen-ager. I just don't get it."
"Oh. Not really sure what to tell you.", I said and went back to writing about Nick's room.
She laid there for a few moments and then wrapped her arm around my arm closest to her. "I love you.", she said. "So much."
I finished up the blog about Nick's room and then turned my attention to Trish, finishing off the night the way it should be.
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