Please note: This post has been written with the blessing of Mr. Lindstrom.
The deed is done. Just last week, Mr. Lindstrom went under the knife for a:
Here's how the decision was made, according to the brochure. You see, we saw the cover - and knew it was for us. I have always wanted to walk hand in hand on a deserted beach wearing a sundress and sunhat. I mean, I've done it before, but NEVER with a sweater draped over my shoulders and tied just so under my chin. And oh, how Mr. Lindstrom LOVES his khakis and camp shirts with matching sneakers. Could a Vasectomy make this possible for us? Could it?
So, we sat together, Mr. Lindstrom with his coffee, me with my tea. I put on my favorite jeggings and slouchy sweat socks, and we cuddled on what appears to be a great big pillow while we had this serious discussion. This is how we always sit when having important discussions about permanent decisions.
Following an awkward one handed neck message, given by a very physically fit Mr. Lindstrom, we decided that we were ready to take this step in family planning.
Even though the surgery itself only took 45 minutes, we aged quite a bit. I swapped my jeggings for an unflattering pair of pleated khakis, and sliced up some apples for Mr. Lindstrom. After surgery like this, he can't be expected to slice his own apples. Besides, he's been told to avoid complications by taking it easy, so he sat in a recliner while I stood beside him, crouching slightly like I had to pee for hours, handing him apple slice after apple slice. My back was sore from standing at such an awkward angle, but I love him, and this is what you do when you love someone. See how we are looking at each other so adoringly, or smiling awkwardly?
Editors note: The slippers worn by "Mr. Lindstrom" in this picture look remarkably like the actual Mr. Lindstrom's slippers. Thus, I cannot make fun of them.
And now that we're all done: We can put on our parkas, and borrow some children that look nothing like our own and walk in peace and happiness.
We're so happy.