09/05/2026
Dear Diary,
Nicole said, “Let’s go to the river.”
It’s 900 degrees outside.
The sun is personally attacking me.
The pavement is approximately the temperature of the surface of the sun.
And somehow this woman looked at all of that and thought:
“Sounds fun.”
I married a psychopath.
She’s over there smiling, taking pictures, acting like we’re on some romantic little river getaway.
Meanwhile, I’m standing in the food truck sweating in places I didn’t know could sweat, questioning my life choices and wondering if I might die of heat exposure.
I said, “It’s really hot.”
She said, “You’ll be fine.”
THAT’S WOMAN CODE FOR:
“I don’t care. We’re already here.”
Then came the inevitable:
“Chris, can you grab that?”
“Chris, can you move this?”
“Chris, can you get the—”
Nicole.
My love.
My wife.
My favorite person.
I AM CURRENTLY 73% WATER.
I cannot keep doing chores.
This is not how you celebrate Labor Day.
At this point, I’m not relaxing at the river.
I’m slow-cooking myself.
But honestly…
There’s nowhere else I’d rather be.
Even if she’s bossing me around.
Even if I’m sweating like a sinner in church.
Even if “let’s go to the river” somehow turns into a full production involving the food truck, 19 coolers and approximately every possession we own.
Because apparently this is marriage.
One person makes the plans.
The other person sweats and carries things.
And somehow we still end the day laughing together.
Now if you’ll excuse me…
I’m going to go stand in the river until my body temperature returns to the legal limit.
— Chris 😂
