When smart people say stupid things


I love my guy. I truly do. He’s handsome, funny, intelligent, fun and can throw down in the kitchen, amongst other areas. I fell in love because his heart was open and his eyes sincere. I stay in love because he makes me laugh, gives me great hugs and always holds my hand.


But damn, home boy can some of the wackest shit ever. I’ve told him so. Repeatedly. I think he sometimes fancy himself a bit of a comedian and a lot of the time, he hits his mark. He’s witty and dangerously smart, which can make for great comedy. But other times, he gets a little too close to the “David Brent” school of clowning.


I struggled with whether I should expose some of his less than shining moments, but I’ve decided not to for a couple of reasons: 1) I don’t want anyone thinking my husband and the future father of my children is a complete buffoon, and 2) I don’t want to spread too much of my business out there because we’ll both look like fools. And there’s a third reason: I know a lot of the things he says aren’t malicious and he’s not out to hurt my feelings. But sometimes, I just think of giving him a sharp elbow to the ear!


I’m just having one of those “girl-you-will-never-believe-what-he-said!” moments. I think I should build a website for ladies who want to write anonymously about stupid shit their significant others have said. That would probably make me a millionaire.

Decisions, decisions...

We’re getting married in Scotland, where we live. Planning this wedding has really brought out our contradictory personalities. Let’s just say, Dave is way more traditional and I’m way more modern than we originally thought. Like major. We agree on the majority of things in our normal lives but we hardly agree on the wedding stuff. It’s been an exercise in persuasion, compromise and diplomacy (I think all very good ingredients in marriage/relationships/friendships) and I think we’re handling it well. Over the next little while, I’ll get into the debates we got into leading up to our “big day”.

The venue: We were living in Nottingham when we got engaged and had many discussions about where to have this shindig. Since all my family are in North America and Ghana and all of Dave’s family are in Scotland, we were thinking of a having it somewhere where EVERYONE had to travel. Mexico was the contender for a few weeks and that idea kinda crumbled. Upon reflection, we realized that we wanted to be somewhere Mexico just wasn’t right for us, though it would have been kick ass. We weren’t a hundred per cent sure where we would be living in a few months time, but Scotland seemed like the right choice. Montreal was a contender for sure, but I knew that my wedding would have turned into a 3 ring circus and I wasn’t about that AT ALL. So we made a decision and were happy with it. In relation to where we actually going to be married, I did a lot of armchair research (thank goodness for the interweb) and ordered packs upon packs of promotional material from wedding venues (don’t worry, everything not used got recycled). I wasn’t working at the time so I threw myself into this and we finally came up with 4 viable options. We made a list of pros and cons for each one then decided on one to view. That’s right – we made an appointment to view one wedding venue. We booked our flights to Scotland and went to visit the Balbirnie House Hotel.

Now, we had Dave’s parents visit the hotel prior to us getting there and they took loads of snaps. They loved it and while I trust them, the pics didn’t really compel me. It looked quite British and traditional which worried me, but Dave was salivating. I held back any type of expectation or judgment and fell in love with the Balbirnie. Good times, good times. We’ll be getting married on the premises and the house is so far removed from anything I’ve ever experienced (the house is older than my freaking country!). I think what I love the most is the space. There are several rooms for people to just chill in and since I now consider Scotland my home, and I’ve been searching for a place to call home for so long, I wanted people to feel like they were home. There are couches and lounges everywhere and I just feel so relaxed when I walk around. I hope our guests will feel that way too.

But the path to this decision was fraught with a lot of back and forth about what each of us wanted. I wanted something cool, hip and unusual, and he wanted traditional, comfortable and quotidien. This could have been a disaster, but luckily it worked out for us. Unfotunately, this isn't the case for a dozen other decisions that we've had to make so far. Stay tuned for more tales of (cue scary music) wedding planning!

Wedding porn. Such an apt description. For those of you who aren’t wasting precious hours slavishly reading and looking at wedding blogs on the internets, wedding porn refers to images that inflame desire in the bride as she prepares for her wedding. But I think it’s something of a misnomer, because unlike sexual pornography, consuming wedding porn does not end with satisfaction. Bluntly put, you don’t get your rocks off. Instead, after looking at image after image of lovely brides in impossibly loving surroundings looking revoltingly happy and carefree (though your rational brain knows they’ve probably thought long and hard about making those magical moments, well, magical), you usually don’t feel satiated. Instead, after gazing through pictures of beautiful flowers, wonderfully decorated ballrooms, and details, details, details (I’m up to here with freaking details), you feel kinda sick. And not in a good-I’ve-slept-too-long-I’ve-made-myself-kinda-ill way. More like, my-wedding-is-going-to-be-shit-sick. And therein lies the trap of wedding porn. It makes you question your self-worth, your budget, your photographer, heck, even your husband-to-be. Which sucks. Hard.

So I’m trying to sever those bonds. And it’s difficult. I used to have all these wedding blogs on my Google reader and then I got rid of those. Then I tried to cut down on viewing the one that I just can’t seem to shut out. It’s easy to do when I’m hella busy at work, but when I’m not, oh lawdie. Not so easy. (Though I must admit, I get tons of great ideas on how to incorporate certain things and DIY tips). There are 2 I need to read every day to keep me centred because sometimes it gets a bit much and these two blogs help me remember that weddings aren’t about sand ceremonies, chocolate fountains or favours. It’s about two people promising themselves to each other in front of their most beloved.

Ok, off my soapbox. Wedding porn. Not cool. Must read the news and cool non-wedding related blogs.

Faith Restored.

A couple of months ago, I bought Dave his favourite graphic novel OF ALL TIME, Watchmen, as a petit merci for just being a star. Though he loved this book to death, he’s never owned it having instead taken part in a reading rota that comprised of his best mates when they were in high school. I thought I’d make his day by buying it for him (full price from an actual book store) and giving it to him as a surprise. Of course, he was ecstatic and while I couldn’t share his enthusiasm for a comic book, I had to admit it looked interesting. Fast forward a couple of weeks and we were walking out of the theatre having just watched Watchmen on the big screen. I was gobsmacked. This film was sensational and I loved every minute of its nearly 3 hour running time. As soon as I had finished reading my current novel Small Island (I’m going to write about this soon), I borrowed Dave’s book to read during my commute to and from work. Within 3 pages, I was hooked. I read it on the train, on the bus, standing at the bus stop - I could hardly put it down. Until I did. On the bus. And left it there. When I realized some two hours later, I wanted to cry. It wasn’t just an expensive book, it was an expensive book I bought for Dave as a thank you for being my guy. And I had left it on the #4 Hillend. To make matters worse, I realized I left credit card information in the back of the book and had to call the company to cancel it. Ugh. I called the bus company to find out if it had been turned in, along with the gloves Dave’s grandmother had given me which were sitting oh so innocently on top of the book and I was told to call back on Monday. This was on a Friday. Which meant I would spend the whole weekend mourning the lost book. My boss told me not to worry too much as Scottish people can’t read – I’d probably get it back. Dave told me not to worry as Scots were all thieving bastards – I would never get it back. But still, I wanted to believe. On Monday, I called the bus company and it was found! The operator even remembered me (ah, the perks of having a Canadian accent). I picked it up and wanted to kiss it but stopped when I noticed a multitude of fingerprints on the cover and spine. I was hoping for a tiny break and I got one. Yay.