That title should be a song. Is it a song? It just sounds kind of melodic. Somebody get on that.
Today I am celebrating, because it is the anniversary of the store. Of store ownership. Of business ownership. Of not going completely bankrupt or completely insane (although some may disagree with the latter, but to them I say it was inevitable; perhaps the store brought it on sooner, perhaps not).
Today marks the start of our third year in business. Cody insists that to mark it as such, I am not being completely forthcoming with myself. He says it is the store's two year anniversary. I think that since this is my third July, and will be my third holiday season coming up shortly, it is a glaring shame to not mention the word THREE in there somewhere. To say TWO, it sounds so much less, like I've hardly done anything really, just two years of all this work. When no, this is the third time around for all these things!
And yet, I can't say it is our three year anniversary. So I have to say vague things like "We're celebrating the start of our third year!" or "Our third year starts today!"
Cody wonders why I can't say the words TWO or SECOND in relation to the event. I tried to explain it to him using this as an example. He immediately understood. Or, at least, he understood that he doesn't understand, but he knows what happens in instances like these, when I am grasping at the last remaining shreds of mental stability, and he insists that I behave rationally.
Because, you see, the thing I didn't explain in that story linked to above was this: After I completely destroyed my hair with the always-disastrous home hair coloring kit, and after I stared at my hair for what seemed like hours in the mirror, mumbling incoherently, and AFTER I tied my hair up in a scarf to go to sleep, just so that I wouldn't have to look at it anymore and could therefore pretend that it hadn't happened, Cody tried to rationalize with me.
"Why are you sleeping in that scarf?" he asked.
"Because. I have to. Don't talk to me about it. I can't look at my hair," I responded.
"But you'll be sleeping," he reasoned.
"I CAN'T! DON'T MAKE ME TAKE IT OFF! I CANNOT TAKE IT OFF!" I screamed, as an insane woman might.
"Ummm....ok. Why don't we take a deep breath and count to ten?" Cody suggested.
"No! No....please don't make me count to ten," I begged.
For some reason, when I get really upset, my brain puts every bit of normal conversation into the "demand" category. I always end up pleading with people not to make me do whatever it is that they might have just randomly said. For example, you might say, Elise, I'm hungry. I think I'll make a sandwich. And I would respond with something reasonable like Nooooo! Don't make me eat. Please don't make me eat a sandwich. It's lovely. Wanna hang out sometime?
"Well, let's just count to ten. Ok? We're gonna count to ten. Ready?" Clearly, we hadn't been married long at this point.
"No!" deep breath "No!! Noooo. Ok. Okaaay..." I tried to harness my completely out of control brain.
"Good, here we go! One.....two... count, Elise."
"Threee......f-f-ouuuurr...." at this point I broke down into tears.
"Umm....ok! That's enough counting! Uh, Elise?" Cody had not ever seen me cry, to this point. And I'm crying about my hair, of all things. And counting to ten.
So, when I reminded Cody about the hair story, known around these parts as "Remember When You Made Me Count To Ten" he let up on the whole THREE YEAR vs. TWO YEAR thing. He's gonna let me have it. And I'm taking the word, and making it mine. Three. Third! Thrice!
It's much better than two.
So celebrate for me tonight! Have three drinks. Or three desserts. Three of something, anyway. We all deserve it.