The husband: I heard about a writing opportunity today and I don’t want you to take this the wrong way.
Me: Ok. I have girded my loins and steeled my nerves. Lay it on me.
The husband: It’s a blogging job for the Washingtonian. They are looking for one man and one woman to blog through the month of January. They get the content out of it and these people get writing exposure.
Me: Awesome! What’s the topic?
The husband: Don’t take this the wrong way because you are perfect and I thought about not telling you because I’m going to sound like an ass.
Me: Oh. It’s about people with no friends, isn’t it?
The husband: No. It’s a weight-loss blog.
The husband: All day. All day I went back and forth on whether or not to mention it to you. The Washingtonian will pay for a month of personal training for these people who will then blog about it. I think they are actually looking for people who need to lose weight, but I want you to be able to write and this came up on Twitter today.
Me: HAHAHA! You want the girl who fell off a treadmill to work out in public and then tell the District of Columbia about it? I’m in. I’m so in.
The husband: Can you see why I felt like a jerk for even thinking of you for this? What kind of husband suggests out of the blue that his wife get a personal trainer?
Me: We better slow down, I don’t know if I can keep up with you and Dietrich while laughing this hard.
The husband: Now you’re mocking me.
Me: Mocking you? I’m just trying to keep up with your athletic stride and zest for life. Take it down a notch, I’m getting a stitch.
The husband: You’re being mean.
Me: Me? Mean? Hang on, I have to rest. This walking the dog stuff will kill ya. I could use a personal trainer or something.
The husband: I shouldn’t have mentioned it.
Me: Why not? Now I’m burning extra calories from laughing. The trainer will have that much less to work with next month. Joke’s on them.
The husband: Are your feelings hurt?
Me: Of course they aren’t. Thanks for looking out for writing jobs. Do I enter online?
The husband: The Tweet they posted had a link to the rules.
Me: Good. Hopefully my overweight fingers can handle all the typing.
The husband: Again with the mocking.
When we got home from our rather jolly walk, I submitted my 200-word pitch for the blogging job and will be thrilled if I’m picked. Hopefully my heart can handle the excitement.