And This Is Why My Husband Is Not The Romance Writer In The Family - Jamie Farrell

And This Is Why My Husband Is Not The Romance Writer In The Family

Carrot Freak

I don’t really know what this carrot has to do with husbands and vacations and romance writing, but life with boys sometimes makes me feel this special.

We escaped moving stress for the weekend with a trip over to Jacksonville. Hubby likes to drive, and he likes me to keep him entertained by talking to him when I’m not keeping the kids entertained. He’s usually a good sounding board for plotting and brainstorming, so a couple hours in a car can be a good thing.

But apparently not this weekend.

Thirty miles into our drive home, Buttercup was asleep and the boys were reading to themselves. So I turned to the hubby. “I’m having this problem in my story–”

Hubby interrupts me and points to a logo on a billboard. “Does that look like balls to you?”

We have two boys. This will not be the first time I’m asked that question, nor will it be the last. Nor will it be the first or last time I ignore it. I try again. “What attracts men to strong women?”


I stare at him in semi-impressed but still shocked silence. Because while I can handle boys running around yelling “Balls!”, apparently boys running around yelling “Boobs!” just isn’t going to fly in my house. And both boys can hear him. And both boys like to repeat him. (Especially the two-year-old, who cleared an entire restaurant with his loud, inaccurate pronunciation of “Firefox” this weekend.)

Hubby, though, thinks it’s funny that he’s managed to render me speechless. He points to another billboard. “Hey, that one says man dumplings.”

“MAN DUMPLINGS?” Good grief. My children can hear this. My children will repeat this. At daycare. Or school. Or to my 85-year-old grandmother, who knows very well what “man dumplings” are, even though we don’t talk to each other about man dumplings, because who talks to their grandmother about man dumplings?

Handmade dumplings,” he says, complete with one of those you have such a dirty mind looks, as if he hasn’t just referenced testicles and breasts within a two-second span himself. “Jeez. What’s wrong with you?”

Oh, honey. I have a pretty darn good idea what’s wrong with me. 😉 But I also have my plot problem under control now. Amazing what a little insight into the male brain can do.

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