When reality TV started to really become a thing, I always wondered how the people being filmed had enough to cover a full season. I mean 22 to 24 episodes is a lot, and I was amazed at how active the teens on Laguna Beach were, and how there was so much drama, and I couldn’t imagine someone ever seeing say, me, and thinking, oh yeah, we could get so many seasons out of that. I mean I know a lot of it’s scripted for that reason, but its fun to think sometimes that people’s lives are just that ridiculous.

If someone were to make a reality TV show out of my life, there would be a lot of bored camera guys sitting around filming me while I cleaned the house, played on my phone, did the laundry, or grocery shopped. I mean I occasionally do something interesting. Like on Friday’s I go to a self defense class and learn how to kick ass. But that’s just one hour of one day. I can’t see someone settling down with a pint of Ben and Jerry’s to watch me go to my class, though it would probably make a great one hour comedy show because I’m uncoordinated and very out of shape.

There are times though, when I wish there was someone recording when Marc and I are talking. Because seriously, every now and then we have one of those great moments, where it’s like a Jessica Simpson a la Newlyweds Chicken by the Sea so weird it’s like is this really happening type of things.

Being married to Marc is like a little adventure of its own. He likes to tinker with things around the house, and sometimes he just gets ideas for things on his days off and sets out to take on a task that we’d never talked about ever in the entire time we’ve known each other. I’ll go to work and he’ll have the day off, and I usually try and ask him what he’s going to be up to that day, to get an idea of what I’ll be coming home to, and sometimes he has some sort of plan, other days he says he has to go to the store and the plan is hatched right there in the aisles of merchandise.

Right now he’s really into doing a big set up on the deck of our house. He wants to get a pergola and fancy outdoor furniture to go with the fire pit that we currently have and never use because I am convinced that having it on a wood deck is a terrible idea. I mean the box said, “Not for use on wooden decks” yet it’s out there on a wooden deck, prepped for the spring. When I expressed some concern, he went out and got some cement blocks to set it on. I don’t know what this does to keep it from setting the house on fire, but I’ve been told its fine.

The fire pit thing sort of came out of nowhere. When we first got our house we needed to get all these things but he insisted on staring at fire pits every time we went to the store. We needed a lawn mower and a snow blower, but the fire pit was an obsession.

Same with the popover pan. We were downtown for Icefest and there was a kitchen store that was going out of business. We were looking around and he just suddenly says, as if he’s been searching for it and thinking about it for the entirety of his life, “I wonder if they have a popover pan!” Since I have known him he has never spoken of popovers. Not once. I have never heard him utter that word. But that particular day, it was as if he was searching for some sort of rare collectible amidst the clearance priced bowls and spoons. Well, we now have a popover pan. We’ve had popovers exactly one time. He now says he needs a second pan, to make enough popovers for when there are guests.

Anyway, I’m leading up to something here. So, yesterday, we come home from grocery shopping and I’m putting things away. I take a couple items and go to place them in the bathroom cabinet and notice there is a small drinking glass in the back of the cabinet, with a dry paper towel and some of those air freshener beads. You know, those scented gel beads that come in the containers and you put them in rooms to make them smell nice.

So I take this cup and walk it out to the living room and I’m holding it and I’m like, “What is this doing in the bathroom cabinet?”

Marc strolls over from the kitchen, sees what I’m holding, and smiles this goofy smile that he gets when he thinks he’s been very clever. “I wanted to see how small they’d get.” He’s very pleased with himself here.

I continued standing there holding this glass, and I stared at it, and then stared back at him. “So, I don’t understand, am I putting it back? Why does this currently exist? How long has this even been IN there?”

He shuffles over and takes the glass from me and looks at it very intently, studying the beads. “About a month.”

Do you ever have that moment where you realize you’ve just completely lost total control of your household? I imagine it’s how parents feel when they come into a room and their kids have drawn all over the walls or they’re covered in poop or something. Obviously I’m being dramatic, but still.

So he takes this glass and off he goes into the kitchen. I watch him as he shakes the dried beads off the paper towel, tosses the paper towel into the trash, then goes into the Tupperware container cabinet and pulls out a small Tupperware dish. He then pours the beads into this Tupperware dish (that’s right, we are keeping them, I have no idea why), and proceeds to then fill the glass up with water. After it is just the right amount, he takes one of the dried up beads, and places it into the glass of water.

“Now we are going to see how big the bead will get.” He brings the glass of water with this bead in it, sets it on the dining room table, and then goes into the living room and starts to watch TV.

I’m standing there, after watching all this happening, trying to figure out if this is real life.

Later, I’m sitting at the table in the dining room eating my lunch, and Marc in the living room watching TV. I’m staring at the glass of water with the bead in front of me, set now inside a glass bowl that has flamingos on it (I am not lying to you all this is true and we do have a glass bowl with flamingos on it). “So, are we like, taking data or something? What is our end goal here?” I casually shout out to the living room. The bead is slowly growing in the glass.

“I don’t know.” Is the casual reply.

Now, this morning, we had to inspect the bead’s growth before breakfast.

“Looks like it melted.” I said, standing over it while drinking hot cocoa.

“Nope, try picking it up,” he said, very pleased with the results of the bead this morning.

“I’m good, thanks,” I replied.

So he sticks his hand in and pulls out the bead, now much larger and full of water. “See?”

“Yup, there it is. Just like it was when we bought it in the container.”

Content, he placed the bead back into the glass, where it is still sitting on the counter as I type.

When I went to take a shower this morning, I opened the bathroom cabinet and there the little Tupperware container was, with the other dried up beads that were not used in Experiment B. I guess we’re keeping those now. God knows why.

It’s funny because when I was in my junior/senior year of high school and early years of college, I used to write all these fiction stories about weird families, and I’d think up all this weird quirky shit for them to do because I loved writing about weird families with weird lives. Then after awhile I found it more fun to write about myself because sometimes weird shit happens and it’s a lot more fun knowing that it’s real. I mean, usually I’m the one being all ridiculous and crazy, but sometimes Marc just has these really great moments.

I think the last few days would have made a great reality show episode, with some of that bouncy music, a few of those stares at the camera like Jim on The Office.

Today as I was washing the dishes, finding myself again face to face with the glass of water and that damn bead, I thought of that Dr. Seuss quote, “We are all a little weird and life’s a little weird, and when we find someone whose weirdness is compatible with ours, we join up with them and fall in mutual weirdness and call it love.”  Dr. Seuss, sir, you have never been more correct.

Exhibit B
via Daily Prompt: Record


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