With all these elitist posts (graphic or textual) I’ve bumped into this week, I was ready to throw in the towel, Tumblr. I’m packing my bags and moving back to Blogger. You see, I fall in between. I’m what you would call a Hannah Bailey, an in-betweener. But since I haven’t made up my mind yet on how I want my Blogger blog to be this time around, this thought-space shall remain here for a while.

Tonight, I allowed my husband a glorious night of liberty. A friend of his stopped by our house and invited us to a birthday party. Now, I bet this deed was done without the knowledge of the celebrant, so yes that makes my husband and me party crashers. But, really, I can’t complain: I have been saved from making dinner and that’s all that is in that for me.

So, I went with the boys and had the best roasted pork since December 09. My husband and I had to go back and close the store and expressed our need to do so to the now group of 4 (all guys) in the party. Before we left, one of the group of guys said, “when the the rest of the gulpers get here, we’ll beer up, be really unhygienic and share one plastic cup.” (Eew. Or at least he said something to that extent. He was talking in Bisaya so…)  My husband (I have got to name him one of these days), oblivious to the fact that the guys just officially invited him to a drinking session, just kept looking around with that look he always has when he’s bored: I’m singing in my head and no one can hear me. La lalalala! So I nudged the husband, pointed out the invitation and husband—obviously fazzled that his wife, mother of envy and God help him bipolar and passsive-aggressive to the point that he has lost his will to live—said, “huh?”

One of the boys, in a defensive, okay-that-wife-is-going-to-beat-me-up-so-bad-now tone said, “Oh, but you (talking to husband) don’t really like to drink, no?”

Silence.

“We thought we should ask because…(turned to look at me sheepishly then turned back to husband) uh, with the wife and all and uh…” Right then and there I decided I had to break the stupidity of it all: I soothed my husband’s back and said, “He drinks. We can come back after we’ve closed up.” So there. Awkwardness, cut.

A few minutes later we were back in the party with the now group of 8 to 10 boys. I shrugged when I saw the group and conceded to my thoughts of a few minutes back: I will read tumblr posts all night long. I whispurred to husband’s ear and said, “I think I should go. I’m a rose among thorns.” He looked at me with such joy in his face, I had to bite off a passive-aggressive remark (Because, really. I can’t have him wanting to get me back home excited—like a teenage boy who just had his first taste of gimik. It just feels wrong.) and smiled back. He took me home. Thus here I am, wandering aimlessly in our room and on the net and wondering how in God’s name am I going to stop this passive-aggression.