It’s in the Vows: Diary of an Author’s Husband: “Boy was she wrong.”

Hello one. Hello all.

First of all, why is this thing called ‘Diary of a Husband?’ I need something more manly . . . like ‘Chronicles,’ or ‘Memoirs.’ Heck, I’d even take ‘Journal.’ You’d think my wife, armed with the thesaurus I got her for Christmas, would be a little more appreciative and use it to give me a better name for a blog than ‘Diary.’ But . . . the show must go on.

Yes, I am a real person. I am the handsome husband to the woman who y’all call D. She tells/shows me a little of what she says about me on her squad of dragons – her cave of minions hidden deep inside facespace.

I am not an author nor a big reader. I don’t have as big of a vocabulary as a lot of you reading this (probably mostly the dragon minions). But what I lack in knowledge, I make up in skills, a certain set of skills, which, if used properly (or caringly), saves D. from going insane with our wild children. So if you kinda think about it, I’m kinda like a hero. Her hero. Their hero. Yeah, that’s it. A cape wearing, underwear on the outside of my pants, kinda hero. No child’s scream goes unheard. No coffee cup left unfilled. No demand for masks go unnoticed . . .

Wow. I’m kinda like . . . her servant. Never really thought of it like that. Never mind this thought. I will touch base on it at later time.

My wife thought this would be good for her – this “honey-do, please take over my blog.”

Boy, was she wrong!

This is going to be nothing close to professional, this much I can tell you. These posts are going to be about what goes on behind the curtains of this fish tank (Fischer home). It’s where the real magic happens.

Though she’s dubbed me her blog master, my post won’t be long for two reasons:

  1. Ain’t no body got time to read all this.
  2. I don’t have the time to think of crap to say. D. is over here cracking her whip, saying she needs a ton of time to read my stuff in between her imaginary friends and consorting with the gaggle of dragons.

But, I’ve gone on for long enough now. I will talk with you all later. If you will excuse me, I need to save my oldest from my youngest (yes you read that right).

A. (’cause this name is what my wife said it had to be . . . but, I like to think “A” is really short for “Awesome.”)

Also, buy her crap. She talks about them enough to have 100 of them by now. Link here: D.’s imaginary friends.

**Narrator: As D. edits A.’s post, she deviously plots revenge.**

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