“What Time is It?”

 

As awkward as it sometimes is to relay the backstory, I love sharing our running jokes with you all; it makes me feel like we’re all in this marriage together. If that seems a bit weird, well, pretend I didn’t say that and remember that we’re not here to judge. Except him; please judge him and tell him that you’ve judged him and decided that he’s incredibly lucky to have me.

 

Anyway, one morning some time ago, this happened

ME:  What time is it?
HIM:  Check your phone
ME:  Ngh. It’s all the way over there
HIM:  Well, judging by the angle of the sun, it’s about 9:00
ME:  “Angle of the sun?” Are you shitting me with that?
HIM:  Get up and check if you don’t believe me
ME:  Don’t think I won’t!  (gets up, crosses room to get phone, checks time) 8:57
HIM:  Like I said-
ME:  Shut up

 

You know, this one actually demonstrates a fundamental difference between us and other – “normal” – couples: anyone else might have a very similar exchange, but it would just be a thing that happened that one time, rarely if ever spoken of again.

Not us. No. That “angle of the sun” bit has become a thing, damn him. So now, we have things like this even when it’s dark out; I’ll wake up in the dead of night and he’s awake as well because it was the lack of snoring that actually woke me and even though it’s pitch black outside

 

ME: mmph. What time is it?
HIM: Well, judging by the angle of the sun-
ME: Don’t even start that ‘angle of the sun’ shit on me
HIM: (laughs) Well I can’t use the moon.
ME: Just…. Don’t.
HIM: Okay.
ME: So, what time is it, do you think?
HIM: Well, judging by the angle of that big fire thing that we won’t mention, it’s like 2:30-ish
ME: Fine, I’ll just be the one to look at an actual clock like we’re not cave people.
HIM: okay
ME: (rolls over, checks phone) 2:23. WHAT THE HELL?!?!
HIM: (laughs)

 

You see, don’t you? You see what he’s done here? He has, somewhat artfully, arranged it so that if he’s wrong then it’s just a silly joke that he’s kept running. But he’s rarely wrong, and so the actual implication, more often than not, is that he’s got some sort of mystical time-telling ability. And it’s working! As evidenced by the fact that I keep asking him what time it is even though I have a modern, always-accurate timepiece in my pocket or nearby basically all the time.

So then we get things like this early morning conversation, in which I was still in bed and clinically asleep while he was up and getting dressed

 

ME: What time is it?
HIM: Thursday.
ME: What TIME is it?
HIM: ‘s like… after 7 or something… (continues getting ready)
ME: hmph. (checks clock) It’s almost 8!
HIM: I wasn’t wrong!
ME: YOU SAID THURSDAY!
HIM: AND I WASN’T WRONG ABOUT THAT EITHER!

 

And then I leaped out of bed and flounced off to research divorce lawyers.*

 

funny-gif-little-girl-angry

The point is that I absolutely do NOT flail impotently and make this face.

 

 

*fantasized about letting him think I’d done just that while I showered

 

 

 

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