My apologies for a non-functioning link yesterday. Here is the full article in all its glory…
I found myself in a new position this past Valentine’s Day. Get your minds out of the gutter. I’m referring to the doghouse. Here’s how it all went down. Every weekday my husband, Brantley, listens to the radio show, Three Hour Lunch
, on 104.5 The Zone. You could call it his “me” time, and during our tenure together I have had quite a few chances to enjoy the show myself. Blaine Bishop, Clay Travis and Brent Dougherty are the hosts, and even though I don’t always know what they’re talking about they still manage to make me laugh. Well, yesterday I got one of my really good ideas. I thought, “Wouldn’t it be great if I infiltrated Brantley’s precious radio show by being one of the callers?” I toyed with this idea while I listened to the humorous Three Hour Lunch
commentary. It was around noon when one of the hosts brought up the subject of bad Valentine’s Day gifts. He said they would be taking calls and wanted to hear about the worst Valentine’s Day gift you ever received. However, it sounded more to me like, “Hey Lori, it’s God. Call this number. Everyone would LOVE to hear what you have to say.” How could I say no?
I almost died when I heard, “Lori from Nolensville, you’re on the air with Three Hour Lunch
.” I tried to keep it short and sweet while sticking to the facts. “Hey guys, I love your show. I wanted to tell you that the worst Valentine’s Day gift I ever received was a hair dryer from my husband.” The collective group broke into laughter and one of the hosts asked why my husband would’ve gotten me such a thing. I went on to explain that he was a pharmacist when one of the fellas interrupted with, “No, he DID NOT just pick something off the shelf at Walgreen’s while he was at work?”
I came to the end of my story and was quite certain I would soon be cut off, but I wasn’t quite finished. I can’t recall my exact words, but it went something like this. “Guys, if I may, I’d like to send him a Valentine over the airways while he listens on his way to work. Hey honey, SUCK IT!” My comments were again met with laughter, and as I guessed I was promptly cut off. I waited about ten seconds and then called my husband, Brantley. I could tell by his voice that he was a little apprehensive, but he laughed it off. However, as the day passed, he had more time to think it over, and I guess it hurt his ego a bit. I began feeling a little coldness in his text messages. I asked if he was angry and he responded with, “No more radio calls for you.” I couldn’t believe it. It was my first radio call ever, and I had rocked it. He couldn’t make me hide my light under a bushel. Or could he?
I started feeling guilty, but why? It’s not like public ridicule is new to our relationship. It may be a first for the radio, but I’ve been making fun of him twice a week for three years on the web, and he has (almost) always approved. Not to mention, playful teasing is how I show my affection. I’m like the eight-year-old boy who runs up and punches you in the stomach on the playground to tell you that he’s interested.
Regardless of my explanations and excuses, I was in the doghouse. I can honestly say that I haven’t spent a lot of time there during our relationship so that either means I’m really awesome, or my husband is really forgiving. Assuming that the latter is most likely true, I decided to make some changes. So, from now on, I am going to make a concerted effort to stay out of his sacred, sports radio territory, and if that includes Three Hour Lunch
, then so be it. (Single tear rolls down my cheek.) I will also try to mature in my displays of affection to that of at least a fifth grade level, and to prove that, I have one question for my dear, sweet husband. Will you go with me? Check yes or no.