Friday, July 15, 2011

Evidence in His Favor

I realize I'm dramatic at times. Usually it's to be funny, but sometimes I'll be in the middle of making a very important, valid, likely-to-change-your-world point, and my husband misinterprets my intentions. My intentions of saying insightful, brilliant things. And I know this because he tells me I'm being dramatic instead of taking me very seriously or telling me that I've just said some really insightful, brilliant things.

Last weekend, I was sitting on the couch where I normally do my writing. My husband was reclining on the La-Z-Boy chair, where he normally takes his naps. I'd left the room to put the kids down for their nap, and when I returned, I sat back down to continue working.

Me: [TypeTypeTypeType.]

Him: Are you going to be click-clacking like that the whole time?

Me: I'm not sure what you mean by "whole time", but yes, I'll be typing. [TypeTypeTypeType.]

Him: Well I'm trying to take a nap. [Turning up television to drown out my raucous typing.]

Me: You realize I was here first, right?

Him: Isn't there anywhere else in the house you can be typing right now?

Me: This is where I always type!

Him: Even just in the dining room? At the table?

Me: I can't believe this.

Him: Can't believe what?!

Me: I was here first and I'm the one being forced to leave. [Headshaking, scowlmaking, eyerolling.] I'm like the Native frickin' Americans over here... 

Him: Wife.

Me: ...just outrageous.

*****

Him: [Calling to me from the bedroom.] What are you doing in there?

Me: [Muffled.] Brushing my teeth! You should try it some time.

Him: Very funny. Turn off the damn light already. I'm trying to go to sleep.

Me: [Spit.] Did you brush your teeth?

Him: Wife.

Me: [Still brushing ferociously.] You know, oral health is linked to heart disease.

Him: ...

Me: I'm serious!

Him: Wife.

*****

Him: Did you find the hedge clippers in the garage?

Me: [Look of utter confusion and disgust.]

Him: What?

Me: I told you that I'm never going into the garage again.

Him: Is this about the spider?

Me: Yes, this is about the spider, husband. THE DEADLY SPIDER YOU LET LIVE IN OUR GARAGE.

Him: I told you; I wasn't sure if it was a Brown Recluse at the time.

Me: The rule with spiders is "when in doubt, smoosh the motherfucker." Didn't you know that?

Him: ...

Me: I'm traumatized. Every time I have to walk through the garage to take out the trash, I envision that Brown Recluse hitching a ride inside on my back, unseen....kind of like that squirrel scene from National Lampoon's Christmas Vacation!

Him: Wife.

Me: WHAT?! That thing is probably in there birthing multiples as we speak.

Him: You are over the top.

I think he might be right. But still. He should've killed that fucking spider.