This might be my happiest day ever.
Don’t get me wrong—I’m furious. But those that know me understand the two conditions are not mutually exclusive. And this particular source of rage? It vindicates me.
I finally—finally—have proof that he’s not listening. Not even trying.
You know what? I might just start babbling absolute nonsense phrases at him, since he’s only going to insist that I never said this or that anyway. I might as well replace “could you get the mail?” with “glubfisk ekulo poiti lueirwvmie?” Yeah. Same damned results, I’ll tell you that!
[Deep, cleansing breath]
You’re not here for the rant, though… you’re here for the proof, right? And proof you shall have!
ME: (hearing someone on the stairs) Hello?
ME: Oh. I thought you were my son. I was going to ask him to get the fudge from downstairs so I can see if it’s ready.
HIM: I am not him, but I can send him down when I go back upstairs.
ME: (waits for goddamned ever)
ME: (via skype) Where is he?
HIM: The soda bread is in the oven.
ME: Oh. My. God.
HIM: (calling out to Offspring) I think Mom needs you downstairs!
ME: (via skype) No, you get down here. Because now you need to do it. You stood there, looking at my FACE, and IGNORED THE WORDS COMING OUT OF IT.
HIM: I didn’t ignore, I was distracted by your pretty face!
OFFSPRING: (arrives) You rang?
ME: (shouting) Get down here!
HIM: (laughing) Coming!
ME: When you came down, I called out, thinking you were our son. I said that I’d wanted him to…. what?
HIM: Something about the soda bread?
OFFSPRING: He said sourdough.
ME: OH MY GOD.