"Did you marry Adam Robertson?"

This question has been ask to me on two occasions in particular. The first time I was hit with this question was a couple of months after we had gotten married. Adam and I had wrapped some change that had been sitting around the house and I took it to the bank. Since we still do business at this particular bank I will leave it nameless for fear of what might be done to our saving account on the off chance that this person is reading this. Anyway, when I got to the bank I was handed a marker and informed that my name and phone number had to be on every single roll of coins. Maybe this is common knowledge to some of you, but it never crossed my mind. Adam obviously didn’t know this either since he didn’t mention it before I left home. So I took the marker and, slightly irritated, sat down in a chair and proceeded to spend the next 15 minutes writing my name and phone number on each roll of coins. I realize the smart thing to do would be to print that information out on address labels and stick them to the coins, but I was young and dumb so we'll overlook what I should have done. When I took my basket of rolled coins back to the counter I was hit with the question,
“Did you marry Adam Robertson?”
“Yes, I did.”
“Oh, well if I had known that I wouldn’t have made you write your name and number on all of these.”

WHAT?? You mean to tell me I just sat in the bank for 15 minutes on a Saturday writing my name and number on $75 worth of coins and it wasn’t necessary?? Slightly irritated turned into something much more. But since this person obviously knew my husband well and clearly thought he was a good enough person not to short change the bank on rolled coins I just smiled and walked away with my $75 in small bills.

Yesterday I was ask this question for the second time. I was headed home from what seemed to be the longest week I have ever lived through. I feel certain that the raging pregnancy hormones and extra 30 pounds I am carrying around had something to do with this being the longest week ever, but I could be wrong. And, of course, the fact that I deal with teenagers all day long. So on my way home it is possible that I was going 52 miles per hour in a 35 mile per hour zone. Now that’s what the police officer, who will also remain nameless, told me…I cannot confirm or deny these allegations since I had my mind on one thing…getting home and propping up my swelled ankles. So when the blue lights started to flash I pulled the car over and started the search for my insurance card. Which I can never seem to find an up to date copy when I need one. Anyway this is how it went…
“Ma’am what’s your hurry?”
To myself I thought, “Well you see…I am clearly about to pop, my ankles are much larger than necessary, and I have been at a school all day trying to control future prison inmates. My hurry is that I am exhausted and ready to be at home.” But I felt certain that statement would get me a ticket…So I just said,
“Nothing really” as I handed him my drivers license. And that’s when I got the question again…
“Did you marry Adam Robertson?”
“Yes, I did. Is that going to get me out of a ticket today?” At that point I recognized the name on the badge as one of the guys Adam graduated high school and played football with.
“Today it is.”
To say the least I was not at all irritated to be asked this question in this particular scenario. Living in a small town can be very annoying at times. The old saying that if you don’t know what your doing everybody else sure does rings very true in a lovely little place called Clay County Alabama, but on this particular day living in a small town paid off. And I had to laugh to myself when he walked away from the car and said,
“Tell Adam I said hey.”
“I sure will.”

So yes, I did marry Adam Robertson and it seems as though that might be a good thing:)