My Husband the...Spy?

Saturday, January 24, 2009

So, here's the deal. Supposedly my husband grew up in this tiny town in the heart of America's breadbasket (do you like my sixth grade social studies reference?). His childhood was the epitome of a small town upbringing-- he'd walk home for lunch in the middle of the school day, the whole town turned up for the highschool football games and the county fair, and his first paying job was a paper route. He even stood before the city council when he was 16 to petition for a stop sign at a certain intersection after getting into a car accident there (and won!). Okay, so that doesn't have much to do with being from a small town, but it's SUCH a Tyler thing to do. I had to share.

Anyway, I've recently developed suspicions that he may be lying about where he came from. Everything fits his story-- I've been to Holdrege and seen the evidence for myself. Heck, his mom's massive collection of his football pins on the refrigerator are proof enough alone. But every once in awhile, a bit of information reveals itself that causes me to stop and think, "Did this guy really grow up in smalltown America??" Or better yet, anywhere in America. Here are a few clues that suggest he may not:

1.) I asked him if he liked Dreamsicles and he had no idea what I was talking about. Literally, no idea.

2.) There was an incident this summer where his cousin and I started lining our sandwiches with potato chips and he stared at us like we were crazy.

3.) He's never played Boggle or Sardines (I'll give him a break on Boggle, but Sardines?? Every kid played Sardines...)

4.) He's never seen Mary Poppins or The Sound of Music (granted, he is a male, but he has a sister). And he never watched "Hey Dude" when he was little. Yep, no clue who Ted, Christine, or Mr. Earnst are. Blasphemy.

Proof enough? You tell me.

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