DangerPuppy (looking at ChaosBoy who is looking at his computer): Whatcha doin?
CB: Reviewing some theses.
DP: You really need to emphasize the “th” when you say that.
CB: Didja think I said “feces”?
DP: No because I knew what you were trying to say in spite of what you were saying.
CB: Judging from the quality of the writing, maybe I did say “feces.”
A couple of definitions for you:
1) day drinking: what it sounds like; drinking before 5 PM, usually alone
2) cocktail hour: what wives of executives do; any time of day is acceptable
So it was hot in San Diego today. Damn hot. Like 90 degrees. And it’s not even May. (Note: this is not bitching. It’s “scene setting.”) Late in the afternoon, let’s say 4-ish, I remembered a bottle of white wine I’d stuck in the fridge a few weeks ago and never opened. Now, I ask you: is there anything more perfect on a hot day than super cold white wine? (Sit down, redneck. Nobody jumped your tractor.) So I opened it. And it was so damned refreshing that I’d killed the whole bottle two hours later when Chaos Boy & I sat down to dinner. I was so “refreshed,” in fact, that I had to go up and take a little (over an hour!) nap after I ate. I was so “refreshed” that I just left my plate of half-eaten food on the table. I was so “refreshed” that I slept through the entire “Spring Awakening” soundtrack playing on my phone.
When I did wake up and realize I’d better at least go put the leftover food away I found that the amazing hero, Chaos Boy, had already done it for me. Not wanting to be be outshone I immediately started loading the dishwasher. Just as I was finishing up:
CB: You didn’t have to do the dishes.
DP: I didn’t want you doing them. That’s not fair.
CB: Well, life’s not fair.
DP: Wait. You’re a white man in America. Are you sure life’s not fair?
Hehehe. I blame Cocktail Hour. 😉
Chaos Boy loves the Samsung commercial that features children recreating what they’ve seen on the Olympics in creative ways. His favorite is the kid who skis down the stairs. Inside the house. While I contend that it’s a lawsuit waiting to happy since little children usually cannot read well enough or fast enough to catch the “do not try this at home” warning in tiny type at the bottom of the screen, Chaos Boy just sees a great big pile of awesome. But the ad is nowhere near so awesome as what he just told me.
CB: When we were kids we used to tie sandwich bags to the cat’s feet, chase her down the stairs, and then watch as she skittered across the floor when she hit the linoleum.
DP: You’re kind of an asshole. I’m surprised Sarah McLachlan hasn’t written a song about you.
CB: I would never tell anyone but you about that.
DP: Well, you know I’m gonna tell the interwebz.
If you find this post offensive, you should probably just unsubscribe.
I made Chaos Boy a boy-fest (aka “breakfast”) of Greek yogurt, Cheerios, and banana. The bowl was super full of this pink goodness, and CB, who had just dressed for work in jeans and a bright pink shirt with a stylin’ bowtie, was doing his best to mix everything together without spilling it in his lap or, even worse, on the loveseat. He was not successful.
DP: At least it’s on your jeans and not your shirt.
DP: Since it’s pink it’ll look like fairy jizz when it dries.
CB: Or as we fairies like to call it, “jizz.”
I am still laughing! 🙂
Chaos Boy upon smelling a wine he’d just decanted: “Ooooo. I can tell we’re gonna like this one.”
DP: “Oh. Did you taste it?”
CB: “No, but I smelled it. I just love it when a wine smells buttery.”
DP: “Buttery? You mean like a Club Cracker? The wine smells of Keebler?”
DP: “You’re a douche.”
Chaos Boy just went to get me a glass of the wine:
DP: “Am I gonna want cheese with the wine?”
CB: “I don’t know. Do you like fromage with your elf taint?”
Then. After he tasted the wine…
CB: “Mmmmm. Elfin magic!”
Hahahaha! I really do have the best boy in the history of everdom.
Dear Chaos Boy,
I’ve always known that you like your women “a little dirty.” The fact that there was no soap in the shower this morning makes me wonder whether I misunderstood.
Friends, if you’re married it’s your job to support your spouse in all things. Follow my lead:
Chaos Boy called me yesterday freaking out because he thought a course he’s teaching began next week (it doesn’t) and he still doesn’t have the textbook from the university. The admin at the school in charge of getting him a book isn’t even sure they have one to send him. It’s about a $200 book. “Do I order a used one? Rent one?”
Here’s where Supportive Danger Puppy stepped in: “Stop acting poor! Order a fucking new book. And please, sir, soothe thine mammaries!”
That’s right. I told him to calm his tits.