Book Jackets

This year at the North Carolina State Fair, I wanted to do more than just eat. Which is unusual. I wanted to win something for Little Bird. Knowing full well that we would be paying about 1000% mark up on any stuffed animal we would win for him, I decided on shooting for what I felt like was a sure thing.

We would have a carnie guess Kevin's age.

I thought this was a sure fire way to win something for Bird for only $3. Here we were, a seemingly young couple with a young toddler and a baby on the way. There was no way anyone would guess Kevin was over 40.

Confidant in my husband's stunning good looks and our youthful aura, we stepped up and gave the carnie our $3. He offered to guess my due date, but I wanted to boost my husband's ego with the sure fire guess of 37 or 38 years old. Age guessing it was.

It only took a few seconds for the carnie to scribble down a number on his Post-It pad and after some meaningless banter with the people ignoring him as they passed by, he asked how old Kevin was.I smiled smugly and eyed a little stuffed dog that Bird would love.

The carnie had hit it dead on.

Poor Kevin's ego was bruised instead of stroked. I felt terrible about it, but found it hilarious all at the same time. I started teasing about what else that carnie could have told us like what kind of little sports car Kevin drives or that I stay at home with the kids. I joked that the carnie probably knew it was a second marriage and would probably be able to guess a few things about our ex's as well.

It was funny in a self deprecating kind of way; our favorite kind of way.

On the ride home, we chatted a little bit more seriously though about what people don't know about us. About the misconceptions and assumptions. No one would look at me and guess that I used to play in rock bands. They wouldn't assume that Kevin is a guitar collector, and amazing jazz guitarist, and is building most of our recording gear himself. Someone even told me recently that we looked like the kind of couple who would just want an OB and an epidural rather than an intervention free birth at the Birth Center. 

It's so cliche, judging a book by it's cover. I just hadn't looked at my own cover lately I guess. Who knew that I look like the suburban housewife waiting for medication and possibly a mid labor latte? Who knew that Kevin actually might look his age? Who knew that our covers, while giving some hints about us, would be so far off the mark?

Aside from being amusing, it makes me grateful too, for the people who have opened the book and taken the time to get to know us past the jacket.

To read a few more chapters about Marty, you can check out her personal blog, Don't Take the Repeats. To stick with the liner notes, follow her on Twitter.