Birfday

Yesterday was Robert Matthew Fawson's 26th birthday (aka my husband). I think this was the first year of our marriage in which he hadn't already bought a kabillion (actual term meaning a ka of billions) dollar item, claiming it would be his birthday present.

The point is that I went down to have lunch with him during his work, which would be standard for most people, but since he works in Soccer Mom Mecca and I work in Tofusville Hippytown Research Park, and there is about an hour of driving between the two, this is quite the present from me to you. You being Bob. Bob works in a scary place. Strip malls and Mormon movie billboards; everyone has a glazed look to their eyes and cuts you off with their BYU-style-personalized license plated minivans.

I digress. What I'm trying to say is that I realized yesterday, more than ever before, how differently Bob and I spend our days. I'm up on the east bench of Salt Lake City, working on science and ebola and stuff, while Bob is down southernly way in the realm of the "Zoobies" working on 'market research,' a vague euphemism for bs-ing with people all day long. When we were in college, we spent all day together. We would each go to our separate classes and then meet in his office to do homework, or more likely to go get Scotsman dogs and Diet beverage refills. (see picture of Scotsman dog for reference) We only owned one car, and we mostly biked places. We both worked on campus, and would go out for afternoon hikes when classes got too rough.

So it's sad that now I barely know the route to his work and he's never been inside mine. I spend so much time here, and he spends even more there, and we'll never again have the proximity that we did in Logan.