Well, it's a two-fer this week! You get your usual dose of TMI Thursday and a pearl of wisdom from my husband... all in one fail swoop. (I am the queen of cliche, today, apparently. By the way.)
Also, for the second week in a row, hubs humor will come from a reality tv anecdote!
(On the couch during prime time is really the only point in the day that we communicate with one another. You understand.)
So, I was getting my guilty-pleasure-sized dose of American's Got Talent last night, and these adorable sisters auditioned -- they sang a moving rendition of Miley Cyrus' It's the Climb. (Yes, I teared up a little. I'm pregnant. And therefore allowed.)
See, these sisters (along with their two other siblings) suffer from Cystic Fibrosis. The were never supposed to be able to sing well -- and their life expectancy is only 35-40 years. So sad. It was heart-wrenching to watch them overcome all odds, musically speaking, and the standing ovation from the crowd just got me right there. (*clinches chest dramatically.*)
Hubs, of course, was not so easily drawn into the sadness and happiness of the situation that caused my tears.
First, he wanted to know why these four kids had parents who kept pro-creating after having a couple with CF.
Fair question, hubs. I suggested that perhaps they are Mormanspice. Or Catholic.
"Maybe they don't believe in birth control."
Wise hubs countered: "Then they need to stop believing in sex."
After the performance, the loveable Nick Cannon interviewed the Cystic sisters, wanting to know how it felt to move on to the next round in Las Vegas. Elder sister was all weepy and excited, but couldn't quite put her emotion into actual words.
"It's...just... inexplainable," she said.
Again, hubs made a good point.
"Inexplainable?! Just because you have Cystic Fibrosis doesn't mean you get to make up your own words."
Oh, hubs.
I think he was just mad that he had to listen to them singing a Miley Cyrus song. He's still a little bothered because when he purchased his sporty Nissan Sentra -- there was a Miley disc lodged in the CD player that came with the car, and it was all he could listen to for like a week.
Also, for the second week in a row, hubs humor will come from a reality tv anecdote!
(On the couch during prime time is really the only point in the day that we communicate with one another. You understand.)
So, I was getting my guilty-pleasure-sized dose of American's Got Talent last night, and these adorable sisters auditioned -- they sang a moving rendition of Miley Cyrus' It's the Climb. (Yes, I teared up a little. I'm pregnant. And therefore allowed.)
See, these sisters (along with their two other siblings) suffer from Cystic Fibrosis. The were never supposed to be able to sing well -- and their life expectancy is only 35-40 years. So sad. It was heart-wrenching to watch them overcome all odds, musically speaking, and the standing ovation from the crowd just got me right there. (*clinches chest dramatically.*)
Hubs, of course, was not so easily drawn into the sadness and happiness of the situation that caused my tears.
First, he wanted to know why these four kids had parents who kept pro-creating after having a couple with CF.
Fair question, hubs. I suggested that perhaps they are Mormanspice. Or Catholic.
"Maybe they don't believe in birth control."
Wise hubs countered: "Then they need to stop believing in sex."
After the performance, the loveable Nick Cannon interviewed the Cystic sisters, wanting to know how it felt to move on to the next round in Las Vegas. Elder sister was all weepy and excited, but couldn't quite put her emotion into actual words.
"It's...just... inexplainable," she said.
Again, hubs made a good point.
"Inexplainable?! Just because you have Cystic Fibrosis doesn't mean you get to make up your own words."
Oh, hubs.
I think he was just mad that he had to listen to them singing a Miley Cyrus song. He's still a little bothered because when he purchased his sporty Nissan Sentra -- there was a Miley disc lodged in the CD player that came with the car, and it was all he could listen to for like a week.
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Until the next act, which usually shatters my hope for humanity's bright future. Oh well.
I have that feeling on a daily basis when walking through my hood.