The Weather Inside is Frightful

Month four of interdenominational, cross-cultural, pan-socioeconomic wedded bliss. The husband is coming to terms with the concept of being a starving newlywed. ("Coming to terms" means "he realized how mad I was that he kept going to his mother's house for free food and internet.") The temperature hovers in the twenties and the heater is out in the living room. We come home and leave our coats on, cuddle up together* on the sofa under multiple blankets, watch Dexter and eat miniature marshmallows toasted over the gas stove. The cat wedges himself into the folds of shivering limbs. I try to start a sing-a-long.

A Baptist and a Catholic walk into a church. . .

This blog is going to be about how I moved to the big city and found that I hate it (mostly), gave up being a fundamentalist (practically completely), traded my Goodwill denim for H&M polyester (except for the emergency pair of overalls in the back of the dresser), and learned to fake being middle class (middle class stinks). Along the way I picked up a new faith tradition, a couple of interesting but financially nonviable college degrees, a crushing amount of loan debt, a Roman Catholic husband and a cat with thumbs. Stick around and we'll see where all of this is going.

How it all began

One day I was eating lunch on a bench by a fountain, watching all of the yuppies walk by in their suits. Then I realized that I was one of them. The fact that I hold an office job, dress in blazers, and spend most of my time working on spreadsheets hadn't really clicked. That afternoon I realized that the fundamental difference between myself and all of the people around me was no longer visually apparent, and that I was only wearing overalls on the inside.