You wouldn’t know this, because you don’t live with us, but one of Husband’s favorite things to do with a joke is kill it.
I don’t just mean by telling it wrong, or by over-using it (although he does that too) no, I mean that thing where he will say something mildly-to-moderately amusing and—before you have a chance to decide how you’re going to react (smile? Smirk? Snort? Throw him a bone and giggle?) he’ll drag that poor joke out into the street and explain it, smearing its blood and scattering its organs to the four winds.
It’s his favorite part of every joke.
ME: (reading) Men complain about women taking selfies, but we’re not the ones naming our kids the exact same fucking names.
HIM: Yeah, but that’s not taking a selfie, that’s making a selfie.
HIM: … He mansplained.
ME: Oh my God.
HIM: See, you didn’t quite catch the mansplainy tone when I said it, so I had to explain—
ME: GET OUT NOW.
It’s no good telling him not to do it, because he’s convinced that the brutal dismemberment of an innocent joke is hilarious.
ME: Did you grab the letter?
ME: Okay, cool. I just looked where I left it and it wasn’t there, so I spent a few minutes looking for it before I realized my husband might have put it in the car already. You know, as opposed to underpants gnomes hiding it.
HIM: Phase one: mail letter…. (long pause) Phase three, profit!
ME: (smiles) Sorry, what was phase two again?
HIM: (laughing) Phase three is profit!
ME: Sorry, still unclear on phase two.
HIM: (laughs) I’m doing the underpants gnomes bit from South Park—
ME: Yes, I know.
HIM: Because they didn’t have a phase two!
ME: I know. And let me say, it only got funnier after you explained it.
ME: (forms migraine)