Archive - March 2010


On Two Occasions When My Wife Has Said Something 
Seemingly Innocuous And My Ensuing Internal Monologue
 


     Oh, I know, that title paints one helluva picture, doesn’t it?  It really makes you wonder why I don’t get paid for this, what with my overwhelming ability to do good word stuff.
     I really thought I had something this time.  I just knew that I was going to keep riding the women’s magazine train when I saw March Cosmo had “How To Touch A Naked Man” on the cover.  I felt like I had won the lottery, like I had to write about it because clearly the universe was trying to tell me something, and I sure as hell didn’t want to piss off the universe by ignoring its gifts.  But it wasn't to be.  The article wasn’t bad enough to be funny, or even to be made fun of.  It was pretty much just 7 different places to touch a penis.  I will say that 7 is a bit excessive because, unless you’re me of course, there just isn’t that much ground to cover.  I do feel I need to point out that they did describe a technique wherein one would wrap a shoelace around the penis and “floss.”  Yeah, they actually used the word “floss.”  This is a technique that is very effective if your goal for the night is to get punched.
     None of that has anything to do with this, but since I had gone to the library and had been seen taking notes while reading Cosmo, by God I am going to use that somehow.  So instead I give you my ruminations on two different occasions when my wife had said something fairly innocuous and the internal monologue that ensued.  As may have been intimated in the title.

Scene 1:  We are leaving a restaurant after a “date night.”  I am backing our car out of the parking space. 
     Wife: “You’ve got a hummer coming your way.”
     Me: Oh, hell yeah!  What the fuck is the name of this restaurant?  We are SO coming back here again!!  What’s the fastest way to get home?  Right, straight down Tryon.  Shit, do I have money for the babysitter?  Yeah, I’m good, but she better not want to hang out and chat.  Oh my God!  Oh my God!  Oh my God!  Oh my God!  Oh my God!  Oh my God!  Oh my God!  This is awesome!!!!  Okay, breathe.  Breathe.   I've got to act like I’ve been here before.  Wait…………..what’s today?  Shit.  What did I forget?  Is it our anniversary?  Fuck I didn’t get her a present!  So much for my hummer.  Goddammit!!!!!  No, wait.  It’s too cold.  We got married in………….shit.  Summer.  Uh………………June!  June!  Ha-ha, sweet. I  remembered.  Fuck, is it her birthday?  It’s when it’s cold.  Is it now?  Is that why I took her out to dinner?  That sounds like something I’d do for her birthday.  Wait, that can’t be right.  She wouldn’t give me a hummer for her birthday.  Or would she?  No, she wouldn’t.  And it’s not my birthday.  Is this one of those weird anniversaries that I have no reasonable expectation of remembering but will get in trouble for forgetting anyway?  Like our first trip to the grocery store together, or the first time we talked about what we'd name our dog if we ever got one?  Crap.  I’m not getting a hummer, am I?  Damn it, I’d really like one!  She did have a few glasses of wine.  And I did vacuum the house yesterday.  Good God, if that’s how it’s going to be I’m going to clean the house every damn day!!  Haha….who am I kidding?  I wonder if I could get away with just making the beds and spraying Febreze all over?  Probably not.  What’s her game here?  Maybe there isn’t game.  Maybe I should stop be so paranoid.  Maybe I shouldn’t look a gift horse in the mouth.  Hee-hee.  Shit.  Focus, Bell!!  Maybe I just didn’t hear her correctly.  “What’s that?”  Fuck, I hope that came off as nonchalant.
Wife:  “I said you’ve got a hummer coming your way…”
Me:  A-ha!!
Wife:  “Behind you.”
Me:  Wait.  What?  Behind me?  Is that even possible?  Yeah, I guess so, but I think I’d have to stand on the couch or something.  Maybe put my foot on the coffee table?  Seems like a lot of work.  But if that’s what………oh.  The Hummer.  The bright yellow Hummer pulling into the parking lot behind me.  “I see it.”  Crap.


Scene 2:  At the pool.
Wife:  “Hey, I think I just found a new babysitter.”
Me:  “Cool.  Who?”
Wife:  “That girl over there. See her? The blonde in the black bikini.”
Me:  Right.  Because I’m that stupid.  ‘Hey, turn around and look at the blonde girl in the black bikini.’  Yeah, that’s not a trap at all.  Ha-ha-ha.  IT'S A TRAP!!  Good old Admiral Ackbar.  Man, I wish Lucas hadn't ruined Star Wars with those last three movies.  'Course, he was already heading down that path with the fucking Ewoks.  Wait, what was she talking about?
Wife:  “She’s by the diving board.”
Me:  Nice try, sweetie.  She's probably expecting that I'll give myself whiplash turning around.  Well, not this time!  Oh, sweet victory!  How I have longed to suckle at your teat!!  Woo-hoo!!  You're not going to get me with that one!  Not today, my dear!  Not.  Today.  Wait.  Why is she staring at me?  Crap.  Is she for real?  This can’t be for real.  No, this is a trap.  Definitely a trap.  Don’t second guess yourself, Bell.  You know better.  Damn, she’s really selling this one.  Fuck.  I think she’s being serious.  Dammit.  Think, man.  Think.  Do something.  Anything.  I can’t just keep staring at her with this stupid look on my face.  Okay, she TOLD me to turn around and try to find a blonde girl wearing a black bikini, so I’ve got deniability.  Just do it.  I'll just take a quick scan.  No worries.  Okay.  And go.  Turning toward the diving board.  Oh shocking, no teenage girl in a black bikini.  Dammit!  I knew it!!  Man, now I’m just pissed at myself!!  Wait.  Oh.  There she is.  Okay.  I see her.  New blonde babysitter.  In a black bikini.  HOLY CRAP!  Please be 18.  Please be 18.  Please be 18.  Please be 18.  Please be 18.  Please be 18.  Please be 18.  Please be 18.  She's 18.  No way she's not 18.  Maybe 20.  She's got be 20.  Sweet fanciful Christ in a snuggie.  Okay.  Deep breath.  Get  it together.  No big deal.  Just a ridiculously hot teenager...I mean, 20-year-old...in a black bikini who is going to be our babysitter and there's certainly no need for that to start up the standard porn scenarios about babysitters running through my head.  Dammit.  There it is.  Snap out of it!  Everything is fine.  Now, I just need to turn back to my lovely wife, shrug, and say ‘Okay.’  All is well.  I did as I was told.  I'm good.  Just look away.  Seriously.  Turn away.  Yup, just need to turn back to the wife.  Be cool.  And turn.  Come on, now.  I can still pull this off.  I haven't been staring THAT long.  Just look back.  Now.  Do it!  Any day now.  Just.  Turn.  Away.  Now is good.  Oh!  My!  God!  Turn!  Away!  What the fuck am I doing?  Turn away!!  Turn away!! 
My Brain:  Fuck this.  You’re on your own, dumbass.  <slams door as it leaves> 



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