brillo pad

When you say "I do" what are you agreeing to? By Lisa

During our Labor Day weekend at a friend's lake house, Matt and I decided to go for a ride on a waverunner. But when we both tried to sit in the driver's seat, I looked at him and said with a deliberate air of authority, "I need to drive. I want to be in control of how fast we go."

And then Matt said, "Well, you're going to have to give up some control, Lisa. That's what marriage is."

I looked down at the sparkly engagement ring that he'd slid on my finger only days before (BTW--I was wearing it in the lake--was I supposed to take it off?) and I wondered, when I said yes, just how much control did I really agree to give up?

Up until my "shmove" to the Chicago 'burbs six weeks ago, I lived alone for SEVEN years. The only chance of a roommate was when I ordered (but later cancelled) a Toyger cat in a moment of desperation. To think I actually thought FIB (fur in bed) could actually replace the lack of MIB (man in bed)! And during all that time living with me, myself and I, I was in control of everything.

Matt proposed last Tuesday night and it was the happiest one minute and thirty eight seconds of my life! (According to the time stamp on Liz's Flip video cam.) But when I said yes, was I agreeing to let him do things like drive the waverunner?

I ended up agreeing it was okay to relinquish control and let him take the lead on the lake that day.

But as I sit here tonight, looking ahead at my exciting life, I need to level with myself ...and my future hubby---that there are a few things that this LA girl just can't give up control over:


I'm sorry honey, but reality TV will dominate. I don't expect you to understand why Rachel Zoe and Tim Gunn are so important to me. I just Thank God my favorite shows aren't on at the same time as college football or this relationship might never work.


Move over beef-stroganoff-in-a-can and sloppy joe mix (had no idea that still existed!) there are some foods that don't contain 1,000 milligrams of sodium per serving in town. And some mornings, even though I still see a flicker of sadness in Matt's eyes as he longs for a strawberry pop tart that's no longer there, I hope he'll understand that I had to get rid of them for his sake as well as my own. Enjoy your oatmeal with fresh fruit honey. I promise you and your favorite 35 inch waist pants will thank me later! :)


Um, sorry baby, but the mattress you've slept on since you were in the frat house just isn't going to cut it. Even if I didn't have a herniated disc in my neck, I'd rather go back to sleeping on my futon from college than your lumpy bed. *Cue sound of credit card swiping machine* at mattress store. A big thank you to Ted Tempurpedic for saving our relationship.


Ahh Matt's towels. For two years, I dried my face with his brillo pad-like, twelve thread count towels that I'm quite confident doubled as car wash rags on the weekends I was in L.A. My Egyptian cotton towels and wash cloths have now arrived via FEDEX priority overnight and even Matt has to admit that after a hot shower, 100% cotton sure feels better on his ass than burlap.


Poor Matt. Even when I forewarn him that there's a curling iron, flat iron and a blowdryer plugged in in the bathroom, he somehow manages to burn himself or melt his bottle of contact solution because he can't see. And I've been wildly unsuccessful at making him understand that when he throws open the shower curtain at the end of a long, hot shower, the steam wreaks absolute havoc on my hair. I love Matt very much but a few cold showers and lost layers of skin on his finger tips are far better than me having a bad hair day. Deep down, I know he understands and loves all of my idiosyncrasies.

Because to me, that's what marriage is.

xoxo, Lisa (A.K.A. Mrs. Stannenfeldt)