I have a great list of things I should do. First on that list is to write the list of things I should do. What I do do instead (tee hee, I said do-do) is sleep, veg on the couch, stare stupidly at Twitter and attempt to think of witty things to write here.
The first week of May, The Guy and I have coinciding holidays. Any days off together are rare, but the fact he randomly took off a week and I threw a fit and took off a week and they actually are the same week? It's like all the planets aligned for one brief moment of zen. You would think we have something excellent and romantic planned. You would be wrong. We're painting his kitchen and then doing a list of chores at my house. Of course, I haven't got that list together, so I might just make him clean the kitchen.
I think the sign of true love is the fact I am willing to paint his kitchen... GREY. The most dull and inconsequential colour known to man. Despite the fact that my own homes have been colours of the rainbow. I had a banana yellow dining room table (until I sold it for $25 so I would have room to let Madison birth her puppies, but that's another story). I had a living room I painted dark purple. I have copious amounts of cranberry red paint in the basement that I am so desperate to use my dogs have almost been dipped in it. And I am painting a room grey. I'm not even complaining about it. That is love. When The Guy complains about the fact I'm making him go on the roof and check the shingles or change the oil in my lawn mower and I am just going to look at him and say, "Your kitchen is GREY."