Will He Still Love Me Tomorrow??

I hate Johnny Cash. At least I used to, until I developed a mad crush on a certain Joaquin Phoenix. But loooong before Walk the Line came out, my sweet, sweet husband, whom up until then I thought would listen to nothing but old alternative, goth and techno, whipped out his hidden album of the Man in Black, and proceeded to make my ears bleed whenever we were in the car together. I could usually make it through about two songs before I took matters into my own hands and snapped off the CD player, folded my arms across my chest and simmered in silent fury. He just thought it was so damn funny.

I relayed this to my parents when they came to visit towards the end of my last pregnancy. Expecting sympathy from my mom, the Motown Queen, I absolutely seethed when she came out of the closet as a Johnny Cash lover. Upon hearing this, Ward clapped his hands together, did a little hop of glee and bounded off to get his CD. I waddled out of the house,muttering, to avoid the noise.

While I was gone, Ward and my mom explained the situation to my dad, who then scurried off to grab his cell phone. Walking back in to the house, panting but refreshed, I had his phone shoved into my face, the ringtone singing "I Walk the Line."

A few nights later, I heaved myself into the car after everyone else. As soon as I settled into my seatbelt, my parents locked the doors and blasted "Ring of Fire." Three of them just thought they were a hoot.

Little does my husband know, I've been holding my own cards close to my chest, waiting for the perfect moment to put them into play. See, I used to date a guy from Arkansas, and because of Bubba, I spent about two years listening to country almost exclusively. I'm not proud of that time of my life, but it was what it was.

Tomorrow, Ward wants me to go with him to take our son to see Thomas the Train---Live!!! Woo Hoo!!! I really, really don't want to go. I want to spend the day here, puttering around the house and not having to play 100 Questions with our son. But for reasons I can't go into here, he begged, so I'm going.

And little does he know it, but I've downloaded and burned every Dixie Chick, Garth Brooks, Faith Hill and Lorrie Morgan song that I've ever heard in my life. The man hates country. But this time I'm at the wheel, and I control the stereo and the doorlocks.

Touche, my love.