“Who left this glass right here so I would think it’s my margarita?  Because I just swigged straight tequila.”

“Oppsies.”

TG:  How’s things at the sanctuary?

Me:  My co-worker just brought me a baggie of intern hair.  Does that sum it up?

Five minutes after Tom has told me a rather raunchy story from his past…

“I’m so happy.”

“Huh?”

“I don’t think most husbands can tell their wives stories like that.”

“Uh, like what?”

(Fingers smeared under nose such as end of said story) “That story.”

“Oh.  Well, whatever.”

“I’m so lucky.”

“Lucky?”

“Yup.”

“That you have a crass slut as a wife?”

“Yup.”

“Ok then.”

Me:  I hate to miss another funeral.  You’re family is so close.

Him:  Is not!

Me:  You have some vague idea of where all of your cousins are right at this moment.  I am not entirely sure what contitent one of my cousins lives on.

Him:  Point taken.

(I still did not attend the funeral; other scheduling commitments prevailed.  Lord know what perceptions this is leading to.  At the other funeral?  Tom was accused of making me up.  An imaginary wife.  Which seems to be a running theme for me.  Do you think being imaginary could get me out of doing dishes?  Perhaps I could call in imaginary to work?)

“So I checked on my beer, and some of it is carbonating very well, and some of it not so well.  It says to carbonate for a minimum of 7 days…I think I will let it carbonate 10-14 days.”

“At 7 days, why don’t you drink one of the most carbonated ones and one of the least and then decide what you like best?”

“You do realize you just suggested I drink 2 liters of beer?”

“Well, you married me for a reason, right?”

“True.”

The prelogue to this conversation is that despite receiving a third vehicle over four months ago, despite calculating IN A SPREADSHEET (the most sacred document in our household) the sale of the truck into our financial decisions, despite REPEATED badgering/nagging/threatening from me, the truck remains dirty, unsold, and in a vistor’s spot by the pool at the condo… 

Me:…So can we add that to your to-do list?

Him:  Sure.

Me:  Like the truck?

Him:  Don’t forget to add “Beat the wife”.

Me:  Given your ability to cross things off this list?  I’m not too scared.

“You know Norma, she has that disease….same as your friend.  Start’s with a c…”

“Cerebral Palsy?”

“No.  That old boyfriend.”

“…Corhn’s disease?”

“Yes!”

“Wow.  That was a while ago….that was over two husbands ago!”

“Now you’re just bragging.”

“I don’t think that’s something to brag about, Grandma.”

ST and I were on the Busch Gardens tram, heading into the park.  I looked to my right, and there he was.  NB.  It had to be.  That gelled hair.  The pock-mark under his left side-burn.

So I smiled, at first to myself as he was with a beautiful and skinny blond.  Then I smiled at him after poking him in the shoulder.

He looked at me as if I was a stranger.

I took the sun glasses off.  “NB?”

“No.  Sorry.”

“Oops!”

On reflection, the hair was too blond.  And he did not walk with the right stance when I saw him leave the tram.  But that pock-mark sure had me going.

ST slung an arm around my back, “Sorry dear.  But you can’t have dated them all!”

I was studying a manatee skull in lab today and perusing the papers belonging to it.

“Oh!”

“Hmm?”

“My ex-husband sent this in.”

“Are you surprised?”

“Not really.”

“Yes Dear.”

“Hi.  When you get up, you really need to not leave Frisco in the bedroom.  He just tried to vomit on the bed and I flung him across the room.”

“Baby, he’s a sneaky bastard.”

“I know.  That’s why I said TRY.”

“Well maybe if my alarm went off so I got up at the right time - ”

“No.  Nonono.  I called YOU.  If you want to get bitchy, you have to call me back later.”

“…well, that hardly seems fair!”

I grasped for any sort of clever singsong saying to prove my point.  This is how we make rules, right?  Find a rhyming scheme and drill it home? 

From now on, whomever dialed, gets to be riled.

Of course, I didn’t think of that at 4:50am.  My mind was a little full of sleep and vomit escape paths.