His Fluffer

 

As I mentioned last week, my friend’s epic birthday party gave us an excuse for a mini road trip. 

 

I know some people avoid long drives, but our relationship more or less began in the car—that sounded dirty, but I swear only everything else I say is—and so for us a long drive is like a repeat of that first date.

 

Which is why I’m not going to tell you about Audrey’s party—you’ll get nothing from me on the beautiful food (tapas, because she’s adulting on a whole ‘nother level) or how drunk I got or the demonstrations from an even drunker ER nurse that had us all laughing until someone spilled red wine (which was weird, because we were all drinking vodka.)

 

Instead, I want to share yet another of our car convos, because I feel we are at our most us when we’re trapped in a car all day. 

 

(muppets) Fozzy driving while Kermit plays banjo

 

HIM:  (closes glove compartment)*  That’s not safe.
ME:  Okaaay.
HIM:  And I know that because when I was in drivers ed—
ME:  Oh my god.
HIM:  …
ME:  Go on.
HIM:  When I was in drivers ed they made a point of telling us that little things like a glove compartment that won’t latch is something they check for and they won’t let you use that car.
ME:  (rolls eyes)
HIM:  Because supposedly—and I’m sure this was… but supposedly there was a student driving with an instructor in the car and the glove compartment was open and the driver slammed on the brakes and the guy lost his kneecaps—
ME:  That’s not a thing.
HIM:  I’m sure, but—
ME:  It’s not a thing.  You don’t lose your kneecaps.
HIM:  Well it cut—
ME:  Oh, I’m sure there’d be bruising, and some abrasions.  Even a deep cut.
HIM:  It shaved them off—
ME:  No.  (points at plastic flap)  This will break before it cuts through bone.
HIM:  Okay, yeah.  But now I can’t drive with an open glove compartment.
ME:  Traumatized.
HIM:  Basically!
ME:  That and School of Rock.
HIM:  N—
ME:  No, Schoolhouse Rock.**
HIM:  Yeah, Schoolhouse Rock.  I was not traumatized by Jack Black.
ME:  Well then you’re in the extreme minority, because it was fucking weird.  One minute it was, “who is Jack Black?” and then he was in literally every movie.
HIM:  Cocaine will do that for your career.
ME:  Now it’s, “Who’s Jack Black?” and, “He’s the guy who used to be in all those movies.”
HIM:  Cocaine will do that for your career.
ME:  Yup.
HIM:  (laughs)  Thanks for the setup.
ME:  That’s what I’m here for.
HIM:  (laughs)
ME:  Oh my god, I’m your joke fluffer!

 

Rihanna sitting in car giving such side-eye

 

* Because I know I’m going to get questions about it: the glove box was only open because I’d recently retrieved something for him.  I’d left it open because I was fiddling with my phone and anticipated putting the item (our I-pass, if you must know) back in a moment anyhow.

** The reason he won’t eat gravy or dressing or any sort of sauce on his foods is because of this song

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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5 comments on “His Fluffer

  1. Ha! My husband and I spend half our life in the car and have conversations like that as well. Even better? He grew up on a farm and cut hay every year. Have you seen the machine they call a tedder? It basically fluffs up the cut grass to allow air circulation for drying. ( You know where I’m going, right?) Every time I pass one operating in a field I yell…. “It’s a fluffer! He’s fluffing!” I think it’s quite amusing. The husband? Not so much.

    Liked by 1 person

  2. Arionis says:

    I think you fluffed all of us on the brief description of those party activities and then nobody finished the “job”. Yeah, we’re going to need more on that. 🙂

    Liked by 1 person

    • The problem with telling you about the ten minutes I spent trying to get someone’s attention to let her know her nipple was still out (with no help from the man she was shouting at about, if I understood correctly, the importance of sunscreen) is that the lady in question remembers very little of the evening.

      So you see, it hardly seems sporting to tell other people’s stories when they were too drunk to remember it themselves. Besides, Husband wasn’t there for that bit, and this blog is all about him. Remember?

      Liked by 1 person

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