We're cooking breakfast when Hubs pisses me off.
Me: I will throw that bacon grease on you. [Pause.] But then you wouldn't be pretty anymore.
Hubs: I am pretty.
Hubs has a cousin who's about ten years younger than us and his wife happens to be black. Any time they come to visit we inadvertently say things that could be misconstrued as racist. As a mild example, this weekend we recommended a local restaurant known for a burger called the "Big Brown".
Sylvia (the wife) and I are in the car with my daughters and I'm trying to tell her in code that we've secretly signed my older girl up for ballet lessons.
Me: So we've enrolled [4yo] in lessons. . . um. . . Baryshnikov lessons.
Sylvia: I think I know who that is. . ? But. . .
Me: Let me think of a more contemporary reference. . . Oh! Misty Copeland! [Pause] Ohmigod. I swear she's the only ballerina I know right now and I did not say that just because she's a black woman.
Hubs has just said something particularly insulting and I shoot him my most withering glare.
Hubs: I only said that because I knew you'd get that look on your face. I don't get it to see it that often anymore.
Me: Well. . . because usually I just laugh and high-five you.
I notice an elderly patient staring intently at my neck while we're talking. He finally says something.
Him: I'm sorry I'm staring, but your necklace is beautiful. Is there any significance?
[We discuss it briefly.]
Him: Well, I'm a retired journalist so I'm curious about things, and I've learned to just ask.
Me: There's no harm in that. I mean, if I'm wearing it in public it's probably not a reminder of some horrible something.
Him: That's true. But you never know when someone might say, "Oh, yeah, I got it from a whorehouse."
We're at a TexMex restaurant and the table next to us is being served ginormous taco salads. Hubs's eyes go wide.
Hubs: Ohmigod. I'm going to stare.
Me: I figured.
Hubs: They look delicious. One of those bowls is filled with steak.
Me: Most men stare at boobs. You stare at food.
Hubs: I can have the food.
We're grocery shopping, and I've not been letting Hubs purchase soft drinks for a while now.
Hubs: Coooooke. . .
Me: There's a McDonald's next door. I will allow you to get one on the way home.
Hubs: Yes, but then I'll only have one tonight instead of being able to drink them all week.
Me: I know. That's the point.
Hubs: Do you want me to get fat and die early or not?
We're at Long John Silver's and Hubs is scooping up forkfuls of the grease-soaked crispies from the bottom of the plate -- of which he'd ordered extra because he loves them.
Me: Please stop. I can hear your arteries hardening.
Hubs: That's not all that's getting hard.
My mom is recounting the time she was stung by a scorpion. Mind you, it was smaller than a honeybee and she was totally fine.
My mom: Well, I did get stung by a scorpion.
Me: Oh my god. That story again. It doesn't even count.
My mom: But I could've died.
My dad: Well at least you wouldn't still be bitching about it.
Our younger daughter has finally reached an age where we can safely take her to a real live theater to see a real live movie. Hubs and I are very excited.
Hubs: I can't wait to start a movie tradition with the girls. Going to an actual theater, getting a giant popcorn, and they can pick out their drinks. . . But not candy. It's too expensive. We'll teach them that you always stop at the gas station around the corner first and get your movie candy there.
Me: So, they should wear something with pockets.
Hubs: BIG pockets.
Me: Friday night will come around and I'll yell, "Girls, put on your movie pants!"
Hubs has just announced the newest earth-shattering evolution in video games and is not satisfied with my lackluster reaction.
Hubs: You're supposed to be excited.
Me: I am.
Hubs: You don't look like it.
Me: I am excited. You just can't see it because I have a bra on.
Hubs: Well, now you're just fucking with me.
Hubs gets hangry.
Me: Just go eat a tiny Kit Kat while you wait for me to shower and then we can go eat.
Hubs: Why a Kit Kat? Why not a cereal bar?
Me: That's too much. You just need something to take the edge off.
Hubs: Hey. I'll be the one to decide how big the edge is, wom-- [starts laughing]
Me: I love that you can never finish a threat without laughing. I'm not sure if it's because you're such a nice guy or if it's a self preservation tool.
Hubs: We'll leave that up in the air.
Hubs is an avid gamer and usually plays after the girls and I have gone to bed. We've just gotten our daughters to sleep.
Hubs: You wanna go downstairs and watch something? Or are you going to bed?
Me: I'm just going to pass out.
Hubs: Then I guess I have no choice but to go and beat Diablo.
Me: Is that what you're calling him now?
It's Hubs's responsibility to take out the trash every week.
Hubs: I gotta hurry and get all this on the street before it rains.
Me: Are you talking about the trash or [gesturing to his body] all of thissss?
Hubs: Joke if you will, but I'm worth a pretty penny.
Me: Exactly. A penny.
Hubs: Hey, if it's money it's worth it. I'll just have to sit on a pillow for a while tomorrow.
We're in a field and our daughters are picking dandelions when they both go running to pick a random bright yellow weed.
Hubs: Oh, god, don't let them touch that. It's a chigger plant. They'll get infested.
Me: Meh. Twenty minutes of joy is worth a week of itching.
Hubs: That was my motto in college.
Our preschooler is having a party for her dolls and tasks us with bringing something that starts with the letter A. We finally arrived at appetizer, but not before coming up with the following options:
Hubs: If there were no such thing as True Blood, would you still consider being a vampire?
Me: Not now. We have kids.
Hubs: But if we didn't have kids?
Me: Yeah. Probably.
Hubs: But you'd have to kill people.
Me: I wouldn't have to kill them, just feed from them.
Me: Or I could kill people and be like the Dexter of vampires.
Hubs: Ooh, good idea. Or sometimes you could kill people who are just assholes.
Me: I could go to the Republican National Convention. Oh my god I'd get so fat.
My father-in-law has introduced our preschooler to Woody Woodpecker. Lucky for us, he also taught her that it's available on Netflix. Pretty sure he's not getting a Christmas gift.
Hubs: Did you see the name of this episode? It's "Automatic Woody".
Me: Uh. . .
Hubs: That's my nickname for you.
Hubs and I see a Facebook post from one of our favorite restaurants.
Hubs: They have catfish today.
Me: I know. It looks amazing.
Hubs: You should go get me some.
Me: No. It's icy out there and I'm not leaving the house.
Hubs: But you haven't showered yet and you look all scruffy. Maybe they'll think you're homeless and just hand you some food for free.
We have an upcoming evening when we'll only have our preschooler on our hands (and not her little sister as well). I've been asking her what she wants to do, and am recapping the conversation for Hubs.
Me: So I concluded by saying we'll talk about it on Friday and do whatever you want to do.
Hubs: Whatever I want to do? Or whatever she wants to do?
Me: No, her. Although I probably should let you decide since you're the man of the house and the head of our family.
Hubs: Damn straight. You would be nothing without my tutelage.
Me: Tutelage? Is that what you're calling him these days?
Because of the nature of my work, I frequently engage in small talk with my patients.
Me: So how did you propose to your wife?
Patient: Well, I took her to Vermont for a weekend and we hiked up to the top of a mountain and that's where I asked her.
Me: That is so romantic! I'm jealous. I guess she kind of had to say yes after that.
Patient: Meh. I just got her up there and waited for the altitude sickness to kick in.