So, my darling husband thought of this a few years ago when we were bored and melancholy with the long Pittsburgh winters, and were burned out on streaming Netflix. He made "13 Weeks of Shit" to keep us entertained. He had a bowl full of pieces of paper, on which were written a weekend activity, and a brunch/dinner option. Each week I got to blindly pick one from the bowl, and we would venture out that weekend following the card's instructions.
It was great fun, and we were pleased and entertained all winter. The man is amazing. They were a great 13 weeks.
Then our life, as it does, got quite busy again with plays and musicals and travel and work and such madness, and the 13 Weeks of Shit became only a fond memory.
(I should probably mention here that my darling husband is an arts & theater teacher. It will make more sense soon.)
This past Christmas (2012), we had our dear friends visiting from California (who didn't know about 13 Weeks of Shit), and my last gift from Mr. Husband was a smallish heavy box. I opened it, and pulled out the large, handmade, creation that was inside. It was a giant pile of steaming poop. Beautifully crafted, by the way, by my darling husband. Our friends were obviously quite confused. The top part of the poop lifted away and inside were 14 (he had upped the ante from the last series) pieces of paper, each with it's own new activity and dining experience, and written with the wry inside humor that makes us "US".
Seriously. The best husband in the world is all mine.
So, after getting through musical season and our June travel, here we are, embarking on 14 Weeks of Shit. They won't run concurrently, but they will be absolutely amazing.
And here, in all of its glory, is Week 1. We'll be going to The Mattress Factory and James Street on Sunday (where, incidentally, we had our first date just 10 short years ago next month).