Tote bags and Hamsters

Today I sent Justin one of the most bizarre texts he’s probably ever received from me.

I asked, “Can I please order a monogrammed tote bag with a lot of compartments in it for my birthday? You won’t even have to get anything.”

You see, a friend was having a “31” catalogue party at work. “31,” I have learned this year, is the cure for women like me; women who lug in 3 Wal-Mart sacks, a gigantic purse you can’t find anything in and a handful of keys everywhere they go. It’s a soccer mom’s dream come true. And they’re going to write my name on it? Took me back to the day when Mom ordered me a pink L.L. Bean lunchbox with my name proudly printed across it. I’ll never forget the tears that ensued when my poodle Ramsey chewed it up. From that moment on, my lunchboxes were scribbled on with Sharpie.

But back to his response: “I can get you something fun for your birthday if you want.”

Here’s the sad part: That is a fun gift to me now. What happened to the girl that wanted a new Coach bag? Oh wait, I still want one of those. I just get an extra thrill out of a bag boasting 5 pouches and a mesh compartment I can put my water bottle in (Scratch that. Diet Dr. Pepper. Who am I kidding?)

I think this wonderful creation of a bag will solve a disease that I have acquired—a disease I didn’t know I had until I got married.

One night, when I got home from work, Justin said, “I cleaned the house today and I have realized something.”

“What’s that?”

“You are just like a hamster.”

I’ve been compared to a number of things, but this was my first reference to a small, rat-like creature.

When I asked him why, he began to point all around the house. Suddenly, the storm clouds cleared and I began to see myself for who I really was.

Little grocery sacks, all tied up, were spread throughout the house. Work clothes in one from when I went to the gym 2 weeks ago, several spaghetti-stained Tupperware containers in another, workout clothes from when I promised myself I would go and didn’t. Another housed make-up and hair accessories for those days I was late for work.

It was like I had my furry little paws going a mile a minute, collecting piles of wood shavings all over my cage. It was embarrassing.

You never realize how weird you are until you live with another person. I’ve probably gone my whole life with my grocery bag hoarding, but it took being called a hamster to really get me some help.

I also have this thing with completely tuning people out. It’s not even on purpose. I am just in my own little world. Sometimes he will finally get to decibel bazillion and I will say, “You don’t have to yell at me.” It is then that he will inform me that he had been saying the same sentence for 5 minutes. Oops. My bad.

But then I realize-- you know what? He licks his plate. I dare the extra ranch and ketchup to escape fast enough.

But this is coming from the girl who gets excited watching a show or sports event and involuntarily flails her arms out in front of her, claps suddenly and then lets them drop to her side. It’s quite disturbing.

And the girl who has to alternate between chocolate and gummy worms while watching a movie. And the girl who can't wear a matching pajama set. I have to break it up. The girl who turns into Roseanne Barr when she's hungry.

So he definitely got the stranger end of the deal. I just can’t help myself.

So I guess I give all of this unnecessary self-disclosure to say I am hoping that having a cute tote bag that costs way too much for a tote bag will take care of my issues. We'll see.

The bags are going in the closet and this hamster is getting back on the wheel.