The Hot Man and I are enjoying a peaceful moment.(Translation, the kids are all playing Xbox and we are ignoring the shouting and arguing.)Such tranquil 'alone' moments are rare and I must cherish them. I ask, "What are you thinking about?" (awaiting his deep thoughts)
"Nothing."
"What do you mean nothing? Come on, what are you really thinking about?"
A shrug. "Nothing."
I try again. "Umm, shall I start by telling you what I'M thinking about?" And then I rattle off my list of thoughts which span such exciting things as:
*commenting on how handsome JB looked in his new suit jacket at church
* musing upon whether Sade will continue on her growth spurt and overtake her older brother ( he's praying really hard that she doesnt)
* wondering if my blog stats will reach 8,000 hits this month (maybe if I go look at it using a different computer I can boost the numbers up myself. Or how about if I post another half-naked pic of Ryan Reynolds? That usually gets the readers in a tizz, but then I cant really get the Hot Man's opinion on THAT marketing tactic, now can I?)
* pondering the unfairness of a world that doesn't allow you to take all the fat you don't want in your thighs and move it into your flat butt and chest with the instant click of a button, BOOYA! Really hot chick alert.(wouldnt that just be so cool? Like every morning you would look at yourself in the mirror and then use a remote control to maneouver squidgy bits where you wanted them to be according to what outfit you were going to wear. One day I could have a butt like Beyonce and then another day I could be rockin a Baywatch babe boosty top! Im so clever. I should have been an inventor. My talents are just so wasted on Domestic Goddess-ing.)
*Running thru the recipe inventory to see what i shall cook for dinner. Today. Tomorrow. The next day.
*Oh, and in case you think I'm awfully superficial, I was also deeply thinking about global warming. And saving whales. And about politics too, because I'm a politicallly-minded creature. Like I was just thinking how tired and old Barack Obama looks and feeling quite sad and worried for him. (Michelle on the other hand is stunning. And did you see her dress at that State Dinner?! woop woop.)
The Hot Man looks at me with a faintly horrified expression. "You're thinking about ALL of those things?"
"Yeah. Plus, Im thinking about the loads of washing that need to be hung up and which child I'm going to ask to do it and about when was the last time the shower got a decent scrub and if the yoghurt in the fridge has passed its expiry date so I better hurry up and bake something with it.Every minute, my brain is going on a hundred different tangents, otherwise, time is being wasted. You know, like when you sit there and think about NOTHING? How can you think about nothing?!"
"Easy. I sit here and think. About. Nothing. You should try it sometime."
So I did. I sat and I tried real hard. To meditate upon a blank slate and be fully engaged in the wondrous mysteries of nothing. I couldnt do it. I kept getting assailed on all fronts by my blog, my book, my dirty shower, my piles of laundry and more. "I cant!" I whined. The Hot Man nodded sagely, "See, this is why you're so stressed all the time. Because you can't just let things go and think about nothing."
So now I'm really irritated that he can do something that I cant. There must be something wrong with him. Who in heck thinks about nothing?! I need to know, people - Is there something wrong with my Hot Man? Or is it a 'man thing' vs a 'woman thing'? Or (horror of horrors) is there just something wrong with ME that I can't shut my brain off?
I am now going to spend an inordinate amount of time thinking about WHY I cant think about nothing.