I just finished week twelve of my parental leave. Skylar likes to call what I'm doing "second wife life" because I don't have a job to do at the moment so he assumes every day I play tennis with hot young men and sip cocktails on boardwalks before spending all my aged husband's money. Which couldn't be further from the truth. It's pickleball and the men are ugly because I'm too insecure to associate with beautiful people.

Because the most complex thought that has gone through my brain in the past three months is "now what time did I last feed the baby," I've been prone to thinking about things I normally don't think about.

Last month I removed all of the clothes from our dresser so I could clean the insides of the drawers? Why? Were they dirty? No. I don't know why I did this. But I've been doing a lot of these sorts of things lately.

And so, last week I was sitting on the couch with Skylar wherein he was studying and writing doctor notes, for he is a Man Who Still Works Hard, and I was engaging in something equally important (binging twelve straight hours of The Real Housewives of Salt Lake City and wondering why I haven't received a casting call yet).

Suddenly I paused the Highbrow programming, which I only do when I'm about to say something extremely important, and I informed Skylar "I think I might be ready to start thinking about looking into the possibility of exploring the idea of searching for a new car."

Skylar has been bullying me into upgrading my car for years. I bought my current vehicle thirteen years ago. It's been a fine car. But a while back a concrete retaining wall crashed into the bumper in an empty movie theater parking lot and then refused to get it repaired so I've spent half a decade driving around town looking like a hot irresponsible person who gets into accidents.

Now, I am not a man who moves quickly when it comes to big life events. I also have the saving and spending habits of someone who came of age during The Great Depression and doesn't understand why candy bars cost more than a nickel these days.

I'm not going to lie to the good people of It Just Gets Stranger Dot Com about that. The last time I lied to you I went to prison for a decade and my skin care regimen cannot afford to go through that again. And, yes. Since you're SO curious—I did have a prison wife. Her name was Slammin' Sammy and thank jebuz I don't give Skylar access to our bank accounts so he can't see the outrageous amount of alimony we pay her every month.

When I suggested finally giving in on the car thing, I really did not intend to actually pull the trigger before the next full solar eclipse in Salt Lake City.

Skylar knows this. He is aware of who I am as a person. This is a man who, while we were dating, looked me deadass in the eyes one day and said, "you will propose to me and you will do it by the end of the year and you will do it willingly and I will act like I didn't demand this." And so I did. And I've only regretted it one time since then and that was when he decided to grow a mustache for two months.

There are a lot of reasons I needed Skylar, specifically, to enter my life. One of the most important of those reasons is he is not afraid to strongarm me into doing things I genuinely want to do but keep dragging my feet over because What If Everything Bad.

On the other hand, I am the person in Skylar's life who is prepared with reasonable firm responses when Skylar sends texts like this very real one I got last summer that said "would you be really mad if I bought a goat for the backyard right now?"

We do not have a goat.

And so, the moment Skylar heard me open the door a tiny crack on the car thing, he queued up a suspiciously already-prepared PowerPoint presentation aimed at me specifically, including quotes from people in my life, to walk through sixteen dozen possible vehicles he had already secretly test driven and christened with a dedicatory prayer and a lap dance.

I told him I want to get an electric vehicle because I'd like to be a Hot Single Mom who drives electric cars and says things like "life coach" and "self care" and "I almost got trafficked at Target again."

And before you tell me all the reasons I shouldn't get an electric vehicle, I must warn you, I cannot be talked out of this. I am a stubborn man. I purchased windows for my house in Year of our Lord Cher Two Thousand and Fourteen despite the strong warnings from a friend who felt like the guy who bid the job was "sketch city" and when the windows were almost immediately filled with moisture they were supposedly designed to keep out, I spent the next ten years saying things like "they're supposed to do that!"

I cannot be persuaded. And when it comes to large purchases I've already made, I refuse to ever admit I was wrong.

So, yeah. This bitch is done with gas, and there's nothing you can do about it.

Now, the thing about purchasing a car is I am only an ideas man. I'm not willing to do any of the work. Like, I don't even want to have travel to the dealership to look at something. Fortunately I'm married to a man who does things. Highly recommend, by the way. Mary a man who does things. You'll be amazed at the things they do.

So, Skylar started presenting me with options, including thorough analyses and price breakdowns and then I would provide extremely helpful feedback like making a disappointed face and giving no further reason for why that wasn't the car I was looking for.

The behavior in which I have engaged throughout this process is not behavior I would ever put up with in any other person. But if you admit you're a hypocrite, it actually cancels out the hypocrisy. Trust me. I'm probably still a lawyer.

Thankfully, Skylar seems really unbothered by it all, which is great, because it means I don't have to change or engage in even a modicum of self-improvement for the sake of our marriage.

I think he's just so thrilled that I've given him the green light to spend time doing his favorite activity: endless nearly useless research on the latest technology that has a 50/50 chance of saving the world or ushering in the Apocalypse.

And so that's how we live now. Skylar runs into the room to give a new presentation. I, sitting on my patriarchal throne of domestic authority, pause Bravo where that one lady I see around town has just thrown a glass of wine on that other lady I see around town because she's mad that second lady has befriended another lady I see around town.

Skylar tries to persuade me to buy a car and use all the money I was saving for you all to go to college to do it. WHEN DID THEY BECOME THIS EXPENSIVE BACK IN MY DAY YOU COULD BUY A MODEL T FORD TRUCK FOR A HANDSHAKE AND A CARTWHEEL.

I quietly shake my head and hit play as he shuffles out of the room to continue his search. He'll find it, someday, I'm sure.

Until then, I'm just here, feeling so alive at the possibility of something potentially happening during this never-ending parental leave.

~It Just Gets Stranger