Me: “Do you want to see my doodle?”
Him: “… I don’t know honey. I don’t know how much privacy these sheers give us.”
See? SEE?! It’s not just me who does it.
The actual “doodle” in question:
(I can’t explain. I don’t know why there’s a spray can. I don’t know why there’s a wonky triangle. I just don’t know. Doodles will out.)
Me [knocking on husband's office door]: “Hey honey?”
Him [not looking up from computer]: “Yup?”
Me: “I was going to throw on a cropped sweatshirt in a little while and go for a ride in a DeLorean, do you want to come?”
Him: [silence]
Him: “I take it you don’t like Boston?”
Me: “I’m just saying that’s what I’ll be doing, and I wanted to know if you want to come with. And that you should bring that CD you’re playing with you.”
Him: “…You’re a jerk.”
At this point in the conversation, I’ve been told it’s bad form to waggle one’s wedding ring at your husband. Tee hee, whoops.
Me: *see husband in office booting up Linux*
Him: *stands up to open blinds*
Me: *sneak up behind him*
Me: “I’m going to squeeze u titties…” [grab his boobs]
Me: “AND U-BUN-TU!!” [grab his butt]
Me: “Get it honey? Get it?! Come on. I need more for this one. That was genius.”
Him: *sighs the sigh of deep despair and regret* “God.” *sigh* “Yes. You’re horrible.”
You can almost hear his soul breaking.
The husband just upgraded his speakers. Which I am insanely jealous of, though I proceeded to waste exactly no time in putting the empty speaker boxes on my appendages and roboting around the house. (Present for him, present for me.)
(I don’t know what he thought was going to happen when he handed the empty boxes to me — what was I going to do, put them straight in the recycling like a grown-up? PFFFFT! What did we, just meet?)
The speaker boxes reminded me of one of the greatest childhood memories ever, and that is the memory of the empty refrigerator box. Explaining it to the hubby only drew a blank look (okay, a blank look and a smile), but I can’t be the only one who did this.
The Greatest Toy Ever you could have as a kid was the giant empty cardboard box from a new fridge. When I was a kid, I guess a lot of people on our street had to replace their fridges. Because empty refrigerator boxes were pretty plentiful in my corner of suburbia. A neighbour would put an empty box at the end of the curb, and you would RUN to get it and put it in the backyard.
Because.
With an empty fridge box, what you do is this:
1. Put the box on its side, lengthwise, on the ground.
2. Crawl in the box to the very end.
3. Heave your body against the sky-facing side of the box.
4. The box will tip a little skyward.
5. Repeat.
6. Repeat.
7. Repeat until the box suddenly hits the “tipping point” (LITERALLY! ZOMG!) and rights itself on its end.
8. You are now sitting at the bottom of a tall box, looking up at the clouds.
9. Magic.
I would spend hours in those boxes. I’m pretty sure I fell asleep in one more than once. I have a vague memory of trying to negotiate bringing a blanket and pillow out to spend the night out there. Bottom of a box, tunnel to a square of sky. Peace.
Goddamn I wish I had a refrigerator box right now.
Preface: The husband is having difficulties feeding himself today. This morning started with him texting me re: the current location of the last scone, which he couldn’t find. I was, at the time, about a kilometre away, so it is interesting that he thought I’d somehow be able to save him in this search.
Me: *Watching Brian Cox talk about the Large Hadron Collider.*
Him: *Suddenly appears dead centre of my office doorway.*
[Standoff]
Me: “Yes honey?”
[No response]
Me: “Quickly baby, I’m watching science here. There is science happening and I’m missing it. It’s science hour and I’m learning about science. Talk fast.
Him: “I WANT MY LUNCH!” *bangs sides of doorjam* *jumps up and down*
Him: *I-just-did-something-bad-face*
Me: “I see.”
Him: “LUNCH!”
Me: “And what would you like for lunch?”
Him: “I don’t know. But I’ll tell you what I don’t want, I don’t want duck and green pea.”
(This is a reference to the cat’s current tin of food. As she has been a bit of a fuzzy little bitchface about her meal options lately.)
Me: “Yes dear.”
Him: *lies down in hallway outside my door*
Him: “I’ve seen this work for kitty.”
Resolution: We decided to go out for sandwiches. (Kitty stayed home. Last seen staring dejectedly at her duck and green pea breakfast).
FIN.
Attributed to him in Neil Peart’s Ghost Rider (which I’m reading), though the WikiGods say that perhaps only the first line can be accurately traced to Mr. London.
Regardless, it’s a thought worth thinking:
I would rather be ashes than dust!
I would rather that my spark should burn out in a brilliant blaze
Than it should be stifled by dryrot.
I would rather be a superb meteor,
Every atom of me in magnificent glow,
Than a sleepy and permanent planet.
The proper function of man is to live, not to exist.
I shall not waste my days in trying to prolong them.
I shall use my time.
I may have mountain biked my head into the metal business end of a low bridge strut. Possibly. It came out of nowhere.
It happened during a “beginner” skills clinic. And if that was for “beginners”, then my name is Anne Murray and you’re going to love my Christmas special. I rode for about an hour after I clonked my head, so I self-diagnose that I’m fine. That’s a funny word. “Clonked”. Clonk. Clonkclonkclock. CLONK! Teehee…
Me: *knocking on husband’s home office door*
Him: “Yeeees?”
Me: “The spa I go to for waxing has a new service called ‘The Cracker Jack’, where they wax your bum. And I think that’s a great name, but I think it would be better if it was called ‘Crack is Whack’”.
Him: “I’m glad you don’t own your own spa.”
IT WOULD BE THE GREATEST SPA EVER AND PEOPLE WOULD ASK FOR FRAMED COPIES OF THE SERVICE LIST.
On a very, very bad day recently, I rented an SUV. And because it is so deeply ridiculous for me to drive an SUV, it made me laugh all day long. Which was exactly what I needed during an incredibly shitty time.
After a gmail chat wherein I said to a friend that dolphins could “suckit” and implied that polar bears should dine on my buttocks, he took it upon himself to illustrate my 24 hours of SUV pwnage.
Comment from the Artist: “My favourite part is the accuracy.”
Some friends just really “get” you.
