If you don’t follow me on Instagram you should go fix that right now because I’m not retelling all the same stories and jokes here. And I’m certainly not reposting all the pictures.*
But if you found your way here from Instagram?** Welcome, and I promise not to I’ll try not to scare you off. This, in case you missed the url and the title of the blog, is the place where I talk shit about my husband by faithfully repeating the things he says and letting you laugh at him. You might be thinking there’s not much material there, given that he’s a brilliant engineer who designs the safest mode of travel currently available and caves to flimsy arguments like, “but the dog is already in our house, so you might as well let me keep it” but five years of more-or-less consistent fuckery speaks for itself.
Everyone caught up?
Good, because I’m actually starting with an update on Offspring.
At the eleventh hour, just as we were firming up all plans for my Birfday weekend, I got a phone call…
OFFSPRING: Hey. Hooooow’s it going?
ME: Well enough. You?
OFFSPRING: Sooooo… A thing came up. And I don’t want to be the asshole here—
ME: (smoothly) I think at this point it’s unavoidable.
OFFSPRING: … So I’ve got the four-day coming up, and I decided to go back to Wisconsin to visit some friends there. I just… I kind of want to chill and relax with buddies who know what all, you know, this shit has been going on. I just wanna make sure you’re okay with that.
ME: … Why wouldn’t I be?
OFFSPRING: Well, I mean—
ME: I mean, I’m not gonna stand here and not say, “What, ya gonna fly awl the way out to Wiscahnsin while I’m in Chicahgo but you can’t even make time to see ya muthah?” But other than that… you do you, kid.
OFFSPRING: (sighs) I mean… I’m am flying into O’Hare.
ME: See? We could pick you up at the airport, take you out for a nice meal, and drop you off wherever you want to go.
OFFSPRING: I was just gonna Uber—
ME: From the airport?
OFFSPRING: I mean….
ME: Mr. Moneybags over here.
ME: But seriously.
OFFSPRING: Yeah, that’d be cool actually.
ME: Okay, so it’s settled. Ooh, and it’d give me a chance to give you a few things I’ve been picking up. I meant to put together a care package.
OFFSPRING: I haven’t deployed yet!
ME: You still get a care package! BECAUSE I CARE, YOU LITTLE SHIT.
ME: ‘s not His fault. So bring an extra bag.
OFFSPRING: Good thing checked baggage is free for military.
ME: That’s the spirit. So we’ll meet up in Chicago. Ooh, it’ll be like we’re one of those jet set families who just happened to be in the same city for an evening!
OFFSPRING: (laughs) Okay.
ME: Love ya!
OFFSPRING: Love you too.
And we did meet up—after I forgot the fucking care package and had to drive back from halfway across goddamned Illinois for it—and we had a lovely dinner… Once he got done bitching about our hotel, which was apparently too posh for our little soldier man and made him terribly uncomfortable (to be fair, I’ve never understood why they offer to turn your lights on for you. I mean, I know how switches work, I promise. I’m not that old!)
So I got to see Private Squdgee Booboo (who doesn’t “follow” the blog but I know for a fact he reads it from time to time so please help me convince him to start a twitter account under that handle—he is unconvinced of the hilarity and shenanigans he could get up to under the cloak of anonymity, bless) for my Birfday along with a bunch of touristy sights in Chicago, a famously windy city.
Y’all have heard about the wind, right?
Because Husband… he was having a field day with it.
HIM: (sighs) Driving conditions are… (sighs)
ME: I can take over again. I was making good time!
HIM: No! No. I’ve got it.
HIM: Let’s just hope it gets less windy when we get closer to Chicago.
ME: (whips head ‘round)
ME: Do you do that… I hear Forrest Gump quotes in my head because of you. Constantly.
HIM: I do it on purpose, yes.
HIM: Not for the quotes—I’m not even sure what quote you just… but for your reaction.
HIM: And you did react there!
HIM: (laughing) What was the quote?
ME: Are you stupid or somethin?
HIM: (laughs harder) Mama always said, stupid is as stupid does.
Then he had to resurrect the bit after I got in a fight with the girl at the aquarium—
Ohmygawd. Can I not just casually mention an altercation with a 5-foot, 95-pound volunteer without y’all assuming the worst or demanding details?
F i i i n e.
It went down like this…
ME: (taking pics of Navy Pier)
HIM: So… There’s Audrey. And Evan.
ME: Hmmm? Where?
HIM: Up there. In the line.
ME: Oh holy fucksticks. There’s a line?
HIM: Uh, yeah. But—
ME: Oh, there they are! (waves) And Mom too! Yay! (starts up steps)
TEENY AQUARIUM GIRL: Um, hi?
ME: (ignores gnat, continues up steps)
TAG: (more “forcefully”) Um… Do you have tickets?
TAG: Tickets? Or are you a member?
ME: (looks around at two lines, one of which contains my friends) You mean there’s a line just to buy the tickets?
TAG: Yes? (points) That one, unless you have digital tickets—
ME: (glances at second line, which extends halfway back to Michigan Avenue) Yeah, no.
ME: (sighs) Look. (leans in close) I can buy tickets online–from my phone—right? (brandishes phone)
TAG: Oh, yes!
ME: Okay, so I can do that anytime, right?
TAG: Yep! You can even buy a membership or—
ME: Nuh. So I’m just gonna go do that. From up there. In that line. (points) Next to my friends.
ME: (shows teeth in reassuring fashion)
TAG: Um… Okay? But… I mean… you would have to buy tickets—
ME: (rolls eyes) Yep. (turns away) I’m on it!
HIM: (follows, helpful as ever)
Fair division of labor is an important consideration in any marriage. For example I cannot, for whatever reason, take out the trash without tearing the bag. So Husband does it. I handle people who need a telling off, be they those adorably persistent U-verse salesmen or a teenager who speaks in questions(?)
And look, now you begged for that story and I didn’t get time to tell you about all his other “it’s so windy!” jokes.
Huh. Actually… this worked out better. You’re welcome.
* Actually, even if you’re only ever interested in pictures of Alexander Hamilton (I assume that’s most of you—he’s only the most amazing cat in the world today) you should be looking over there; that’s where all the good ones go. Any photos too shitty for instagram kick around in my phone or on my computer and might, eventually, get posted here or on facebook if I need one in a pinch so you’re not getting the good stuff ‘round here. (Not that he’s responsible for the bad photos, mind you—except for the fact that he moves or tries to boop the lens, which is only ever adorable and it’s a failure of the technology that such cuteness “ruins” a photo.)
** Or twitter—good news: that guy left right after he blew his nose all over the table. I needed new chopsticks, but other than that dinner was great and I didn’t have to commit murder. We’re calling that a win.