“I love you.”

“I KNOW.”

 

So, here’s a conversation I had recently with the one I like to call Big Blonde (aka, the hubs).  He likes it when I call him that.  In his mind, I am pretty sure, when I call him Big Blonde he kinda squares his shoulders,  all big and manly and tall and strapping and such.  Like Paul Bunyanish.  Or maybe Babe, the Blue Ox-ish.  I’m not sure.

I kinda just call him that so I can stop confusing him with my five-year old, Wee Blonde.  They are rather easy to get mixed up.

Anyhow, our witty banter sounded something like this:

The setting is the dinner table. We are bravely trying to attempt what is sometimes referred to as polite dinner conversation while our boys have found a way to sword fight with two limp green beans.  When the blonde one was reprimanded, he silently, all eerie ninja, SLITHERED down from his chair.  All the while, he maintained eye contact, perhaps attempting the Jedi mind trick, landing in a toddler puddle on the floor.  This was his most epic attempt to date to avoid ingesting green beans.  So. As I was trying to explain “manners”  the hubs and I talked:

Me:  Hello.  I’m your wife.  How are you?

Hubs:  I’m fine.

Me:  That’s great.

Hubs:  Mmmm nom growl mmmm.   (Shoveling food.  See “manners.”)

Me: So… how was your day?

Hubs:  Fine.

Me:  *Pointedly waiting*

Hubs: Oh!  And yours?

Me: It was fine.

Hubs: That’s nice.

Me: Dear, puppies are nice.  This is awful.

Hubs: Well…  Is there any-

Me: The Tony C’s?  I knew it.  The stroganoff is not seasoned well at all.  And it’s gluey.  Who makes gluey stroganoff?  Me, evidently.  NO BLONDE, YOU ARE NOT EXCUSED UNTIL YOU SWALLOW ONE GREEN THING.  PARK IT.

Hubs:  I was going to-

Me:  Even the water is bland.  I should write a cook book. For toothless people with no taste buds.  (Big gesture here; I’m getting into this.)

I’d call it:  Bland Meals – How to Create Food that Will Non Plus Your Entire Family With Meh.

Hubs:  Dear. You’re over-dramatizing this a bit.

Me: WAT.

Hubs:  I WAS GOING TO ASK: Is there any chance we could get a sitter for Saturday? I was thinking we should go out.  It’s our anniversary.

Me:  WOULD YOU SIT DOWN.  STOP GASPING AND CLUTCHING YOUR THROAT.  FOR PETE’S SAKE,  IT’S A GREEN BEAN, NOT ANTHRAX.

THE POISON, NOT THE ROCK BAND.

Hubs:  *pointedly waiting*

Me:  What?

Hubs:  Would you listen better if I tried to attack you with this green bean?

 

 

 

 Glossary

Polite Dinner Conversation:  What I think all other families are engaging in around their dinner tables.  BUT NOT US.  NOOOO HO, we have to deal with food that pleads for its life before a toddler eats it.

Manners: I don’t know.  Maybe someday?

Fine: Taken at its word if uttered by the hubster. Totally okay.  Nothing wrong at all.  No subtext.  Really, actually, and truly FINE.  I KNOW.  It’s kinda mind-boggling how this is even possible.

Pointedly Waiting:  Most people in marriages find themselves doing like 88% of the time.  This type of waiting is not because you’re actually waiting; it’s to make a point, thus sending a clear message that whoever you are pointedly waiting AT owes you, big time.

Fine: If there ever was a word uttered that should strike fear in the heart of the listener, this is it.  This is the Hannibal Lecter of utterances.  Back away slowly.

Tony Cs: Some sort of magic fairy powder that fixes my cooking.

Stroganoff:  A food laden with self loathing and despair.  Not to be confused with its younger, goofy brother, Hamburger Helper, a boxed food item that toddlers and college kids will tell you is The Food of the Gods.

Over-dramatizing:  SOMETHING I DO NOT DO, AT ALL.  NOPE.  NEVER. I AM DEEPLY OFFENDED THIS IS EVEN ON HERE.

Anniversary:  When you stop, look at each other, smile and say:  YES. And Always.  I choose you, forever and ever, amen.

 

This was our wedding song.  We didn’t have the cool sax player with the mutton chops,  but it was still awesome.  More today than yesterday, my sweet.  Happy Anniversary.