I feel like I’m getting sick, which I blame on Paul for being sick, coughing on me a couple times, and kissing me with said sickness. That said, I’m about due. I can’t remember if my last illness was in late 2013 or early 2014, but either way, it’s been awhile. But I’m hoping I can kick its ass and feel fine by like tomorrow.

It was another lazy weekend for us, mostly. We did have a little reception to go to for his uncle and aunt–they have two kids together, live together, and just never got married for whatever reason until back in June, so they held a sort of reception at Paul’s grandparents’ house and by some miracle managed to squeeze 100-some people into their yard. Paul was expecting a shit show, but it was actually pretty nice and things were calm and went well. And they had this red-velvet cake with cream-cheese icing in little mason jars that was like the best fucking thing I’ve ever tasted.

I guess there was a little drama regarding who helped out and who didn’t, but my argument is although the couple and hosting family has every right to ask for help, the bulk of the responsibility to get shit done is theirs. This is one of the things that’s always irritated me about Paul’s family–there seems to be this expectation that everyone has to get involved and pitch in with something, but it usually ends up being pretty big, intensive tasks as opposed to little helpful things.

His mom did pull a Helicopter Mom a tad with asking me when he was away how he’s doing now that he’s moved out, which is understandable, but this notion that moving out is something earth shattering for him is silly. She told me not to mention to him that she’d asked, but of course I did anyway, and he was like, “Oh, did you tell her how much happier and less stressed I am?” And although he quite obviously is, I didn’t go so far as that. She also expected him to truck into MedExpress the next day if he wasn’t feeling better, even though he only really had congestion and it started Friday night. This was Saturday. Ain’t no need to be going to MedExpress because you’ve had the sniffles for a day.

We ended the night watching TV, mostly, with some of the siblings and cousins. And I’ll grant Paul a pass because he wasn’t feeling well and heartily complains about his extended family these days, but I felt like holing up inside at a wedding reception, essentially, no matter how low-key it may have been, was some kind of rude bullshit. Like, your family’s all outside celebrating a marriage, so you can pull yourself away from TV, get your ass off the couch, and go be happy for them for a few hours.

 

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