As I’ve mentioned, I go with Husband to most of his appointments – especially lately, when he can’t do a lot of driving and is less certain that he’ll be able to drive back once he’s gotten himself far from home. Back pain is the worst, in case you’ve ever wondered.
Recently*, we were at one such appointment and ended up being put in the room and left there for like, fifty zillion hours.** Now, normally we’d just pass the time by entertaining each other, or I’d scroll through my twitter and read him choice bits (he still doesn’t have an account. Don’t even get me started) but some heartless bastard had rushed me out of the house without my phone, so not only were we confined to our own conversational abilities, but I couldn’t record anything.
Never fear, I made do.
ME: I’m so cold!
HIM: Do you want my coat?
HIM: (double take) You took yours off!
HIM: Do you want the blanket? There’s a blanket right here.
HIM: Do you want the ability to generate heat?
ME: (pitiful face) Yes. So much!
ME: I want to be a mammal!
ME: You know what I really want?
ME: A fire. In the fireplace.
HIM: (nodding) Okay. We’ll have to go home for that.
ME: That was a legitimate question.
HIM: Because… that’s where the fireplace is.
HIM: And… the wood.
ME: There’s wood here.
HIM: (shrugs) I guess technically anyplace you have a fire is a fireplace.
ME: Do we have to have a mailbox at the end of the driveway?
ME: Why? Sara has hers by the door.
HIM: It depends what street you live on.
ME: Well who decides that?
HIM: The post office.
ME: That’s bullshit, then. Who are they?
HIM: It depends whether you have a walking route or a driving route.
ME: … Wait a minute. You’re telling me that on a walking route, they walk all the way up to the door and then all the way back down to the street and on to the next house, but on a driving route they never have to get out of the little truck?
ME: You hear how that’s bullshit, right?
HIM: (shrugs) That’s how they do it. Because in neighborhoods where the houses are closer together, more densely packed, you can have a walking route because stopping the truck at every house would be ridiculous. But where houses are spaced out, or neighborhoods are separated, you can’t have a walking route so they just stay in the truck.
ME: So Sara can have a mail slot if she wants one, but I never can?
HIM: Yeah, basically.
ME: Yeah, that’s bullshit.
HIM: Well, if you want a mail slot that badly, we can make that a consideration on our next house. If you want.
ME: ‘s a pretty ridiculous reason to buy a house, isn’t it?
HIM: It is.
ME: Did you just call me ridiculous?
HIM: No, I did not.
ME: Just my reasoning.
HIM: I agreed that it would be stupid –
ME: So now I’m stupid.
HIM: No, we agreed on our priorities for a house –
ME: No, we never did. I wanted a house that was a hundred and thirty one years old*** and had lovely squeaky floors and a big kitchen and two staircases and decorative hinges and an actual ghost. You wanted a house that doesn’t give my soul any joy at all.
HIM: What if I promise to die in the house?
ME: You might yet, just wait.
HIM: Then you’ll get a ghost, and it’ll be one that you know. And it’ll be one that’s already seen you naked.
ME: We are not having ghost sex.
HIM: What are you doing?
HIM: You’re taking notes?
ME: Well! You made me leave without my phone!
HIM: (turning away) We were running late!
ME: (quietly) We’d have been on time if I’d grabbed my phone
ME: This place is a converted house, right?
HIM: I think so.
ME: You can see the original ceiling out there in the hall, but in here it’s several feet higher. How do you think they managed that lift?
HIM: Dunno. Maybe there was an attic they broke into?
ME: Did they do the same downstairs?
HIM: (firmly) No.
ME: But maybe…
HIM: Not possible.
ME: I want higher ceilings.
HIM: … You just want a bigger tree!
ME: I think we should get a guy in and tell him we want taller ceilings everywhere and see what he says.
HIM: We’d have to gut the whole house. It can’t be done. It’s impossible. Or at least, it’s not practical.
ME: I hate that word.
HIM: I know you do.
HIM: You seriously want a fifteen foot tree?
HIM: You’re afraid to get on a step ladder. How would you decorate?
ME: You could help!
HIM: You won’t let me help!
ME: I wouldn’t stop you!
HIM: You don’t let anybody help!
ME: But I’ve never stopped you!
HIM: You make a face.
ME: (pulls face)
ME: (demonstrates better technique)
HIM: (stops stretching)
ME: (standing again) Were you staring at my ass the whole time?
HIM: (shrugs) Yeah.
ME: You’re supposed to say, “not the whole time”
HIM: Nah, I couldn’t see your boobs. (kisses me)
HIM: But see, this is why you’d want me as your ghost!
ME: No ghost sex!
HIM: I wasn’t offering!
HIM: I’m just saying, if I was your ghost you’d always know where I was, because I’d be watching you get naked.
HIM: Ghost sex wasn’t even one of the implications!
ME: It was most of the implications.
** Or whatever.
*** Did I never tell you the story of this house? Oh, dear. That’s probably one for the book, isn’t it?