Green Acres???

OK...so the farm doesn't really look like this...but am I cut out to be a farmers wife?

A few people have asked for updates on the "thing" with the farmer. Well, I'm happy to say that "things" couldn't be better! We've had a rocky month but we're back on track. I won't go into details about what happened, so let's just say that there were forces working against us and we almost let them win.

OK, back to the question at hand...am I cut out to be a farmers wife? The answer...NO!! First and foremost, farming is hard work and my farmer is in a situation where the milking herd is to big to handle for one person, but not big enough to pay for a second person. Because of this, my farmer ends up working about 14 hour days - 7 days a week - 365 days a year. As you can imagine, this doesn't leave much time for a relationship or any kind of social life. So, what do we do about this? We sell the cows of course! Yes, you heard me right...he's selling the cows. Is he doing this for me/us? No...he decided to do it during our break-up. He was actually planning on selling them and moving about 500 miles away! Second reason I can't be a dairy farmers wife? I really don't enjoy the barn work. I'd much prefer to have my cushy office job and work my 40 hours a week thank you very much!

Anyway, we started talking one night and realized how much we mean to each other...and he started telling me how he wants to sell the cows...and get a regular job...and he wants to buy us a house...and get married...and be Super O's dad...and have babies...and all that mushy stuff!!

We decided to give it another chance and these last two weeks have been some of the happiest in my whole life! He's warm and loving and caring and strong and cute and...well...I feel like we were meant to be together!

OK...how many of you are gagging now? I'm not usually a mushy, girlie, lovey dovey kind of person, but something about that farmer of mine brings it out!

Know anyone who wants to buy a herd of Jerseys? Cuz I know where you can find some...

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