Last spring, when we were visiting the Veals in Atlanta, Mark stumbled upon a book about card tricks. It was then, he contends with a straight face and his usual unflappable demeanor, that his hobby found him. Sure, he shrugs, he could have taken up the plaster patching his wife was hinting at. He could have taken up running electrical outlets (another hobby cheered by his wife.). But, hey, those hobbies didn’t find him first. Slight of hand did and there is simply nothing he can do about it. His wife either, if you want to know.
As usual, my piece of humble pie comes shortly after holding forth on some concept or other. This time having hobbies actually benefit the family some way. And humble pie this week is served up in my own hobby finding me.
I had thought that my hobbies were decorating ad nauseum, taking walks, ignoring grocery shopping, etc. I was wrong. The hobby that has come to supplant all of these is… napping.
I am getting quite good at it. I can fall asleep within seconds. I can time them just for when I’m ready to come unhinged. OK, sometimes the unhinging does happen, but at least then I know enough to get myself into bed. The use of ativan in napping is a new perfection of the art that I am working on.
And how does my sweet spouse handle this? Does he roll his eyes at me? Does he ask exactly how this hobby benefits the chore list? Does he harangue? Does he even know how to harangue?
Perhaps you have guessed that the answer to all of this is no. He’s perfect. Nothing like showing me up yet again. Oh, and he does really cool card tricks while he’s being all understanding and empty the dishwasher-y.
Sigh. Makes me want to go take a nap.