Tag: funny

Friday Fictioneers – Weren’t You Listening?

It’s time for Friday Fictioneers again, hosted by Rochelle Wisoff-Fields.  I can’t always add to the group but I do when I have the time.  The same goes for reading all the other great offerings – it takes a long time to get through them all.  If I miss you one week I try to catch you the next.  My apologies if I miss you more often.  I’m reading as fast as I can and my other jobs won’t always wait.

This week’s photo prompt has been supplied by Sarah Potter.

 

“I’m home, Babe!  Mom says hello!”

“I’m in the spare room!” He called back

The stairs creaked as she went up.  The hallway was dark but the spare room spilled more light than usual.

What the hell?!

He was caked in white powder; hair, face, clothes, shoes.  Drywall dust, obviously, because the next surprise was a transformed spare room.

The ugly green wallpaper had been replaced with delicate pink walls and white trim; crib, rocking chair, change table.

She caressed her belly and smiled gently.  “But it’s going to be a boy.  Weren’t you listening?”

“Wait! What?!  Ah, shit!!”

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Izzie – Hell In A Hand Basket

Well, shit just went right off the rails and I’m not happy about it!  A cat’s house is supposed to be her castle.  Everyone knows you don’t just let any Tom, Dick or Harry into the castle.  Just ask Rapunzel.  That’s a universal law, isn’t it?  As a matter of fact, I think the 10 Commandments covered this situation – ‘Thou shalt Not Covet Thy Neighbor’s Cat’.

And what did I find when I came home after my morning tour of the Neighborhood?  A cat!  Even worse – The Viking petting the cat!!  Not cool, man!

And then Teddy showed up and he was like “Hey!  A cat!  What does his ass smell like?”

Am I in Bizzaro World?  Has everyone lost their damned minds?  We don’t need anymore cats!  I am more than enough for any one household.  Don’t I give you enough loves?  Don’t I sleep in bed with you?  Don’t I eat enough?

Of course I’m enough for you.  I accepted Teddy – reluctantly, yes – but I draw the line at any more cats.  This is my claw-mark in the sand!

If you prick us, do we not bleed?  If you tickle us, do we not laugh?  If you poison us, do we not die?  And if you wrong us, shall we not revenge?

I cursed Teddy for the Traitor he is.  Instead of standing in solidarity with me, he watched the One Cat Show.  It was pathetic, really.  It rolled around and around on the cement like a man-hussy!  No one needs to see such a ridiculous display to get more attention.  I levelled a couple of insults in his direction but he’s as receptive as Teddy to sarcasm, which is to say I’m wasting my talents on them.

It turns out that this interloper is called Charlie; The Viking checked the tag on his collar.

At one point he even tried to walk into the damned house!  Luckily Mom blocked the way.  The Viking is dead to me now, but at least Mom kept her integrity.  She didn’t fall for this disgusting display of blatant slut-iness.

Apparently his owners moved into the house next door despite my wishes to the contrary.  So he’ll be hanging around like a bad smell.  And I suppose Teddy will befriend it because that’s what Teddy does.  He’ll fall for anything if there’s a chin scratch involved.

Later, The Viking came in the house and tried to give me loves.  “Not today, Traitor!”  You’re unclean now.  This whole place has gone to hell in a hand basket!

What’s next?  Sleepovers?  Birthday parties?  Split holidays – one year at the neighbour’s one year with us?  Sweet Geezus!! What if they dress us up in matching costumes and parade us around the block?  Hallowe’en is coming, after all.  Gawd!

Well, there’s one cat here that won’t be taking part in any of that tomcatfoolery!  I have dignity.  I’m a lady!  

And why am I the one who has to monitor these things?  Isn’t there like a Feline Occupancy Law regarding how many cats are allowed in any one neighborhood?  The next time I see a By-Law Enforcement Officer, I’m going to lodge a firm and articulate complaint.

In the meantime, I will be watching The Viking very carefully to make sure he doesn’t get too attached to Charlie.

 

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Come Out Of The Shadows Jesus

I don’t normally do this but this video showed up on my Facebook feed and I watched it and then I had a lot of questions.  One sentence in the video, in particular, had me confused.

“The Christians will finally come out of the Shadows.”

I had no idea there were Christians hiding in Shadows.  Exactly what Shadows are they hiding in and where are those Shadows?  Are there schools and hospitals in these Shadows where they can be educated and receive medical care?  Do they have Garbage Disposal?  Because it might get kind of nasty in the Shadows if the garbage starts piling up.

If real Christians are hiding in Shadows then who are the people that are claiming they are Christians but aren’t hiding – like the ones that go to the church across the street from me, or the ones on TV or the FaceBook groups?  Are they fake Christians?  Are they just pretending while the real Christians are residing in some horrid Shadow?

Why are the real Christians hiding in the first place?  Who are they hiding from?  We don’t allow Lions in arenas full of Christians anymore, do we? That would be fucked up if we do and I’ll start writing Protest Letters to the UN immediately if that’s the case.

Are these Hiding Christians in Canada too? Does this explain Andrew Sheer, Jason Kenney and Brian Jean?  They aren’t hiding so does that make them fake?  How can I tell the real ones from the fake ones?  If I see a person hiding in my shrubs should I assume it’s a real Christian and offer them chocolate and a blanket?  If I suspect someone that isn’t hiding in my shrubs is a Hiding Christian are there identifying marks or secret handshakes that will let me know what they are?  Are they dangerous?  This guy is talking Civil War and that sounds kind of dangerous to me.  Is there a Hotline I can call if I have suspiciously identified one of the Civil War-causing Hiding Christians?

Are there nice Hiding Christians?  Should we be working on Safe Houses for them?  I would donate some food for them if I know where to send it all.  The Shadows might be a big place and I wouldn’t want my donation disappearing to other things that hide in the Shadows.  And speaking of food, if the Christians that are not hiding (fake Christians) don’t mind me Bar-B-Quing, should I immediately stop Bar-B-Quing in case the real Christians are repelled by the smell of roasting meat?  You know…..like Hell?  I ask because if the Christians I see all the time are not real Christians then I have to question everything I know to be true.

There are so many unknowns now.  I’m asking myself “What would Jesus do?” but I’m drawing a blank.  I suppose if Jesus was around the real Christians wouldn’t be hiding, right?  Or maybe Jesus would be in hiding too, waiting for someone to impeach Donald Trump so he could come out of the Shadows with all the other real Christians.

So, if I have this right, if the Americans impeach Donald Trump, Jesus can come out of the Shadows with all the Hiding Christians.  And maybe there are enough nice Hiding Christians to stop a Civil War that the not-so-nice Hiding Christians want.

That sounds totally plausible to me.

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Just Like Us

 

 

 

 

 

It has become evident that The Viking and I have rubbed off on our cats.  You might think that would be a good thing, especially if we are competent at using a litter box, but it’s probably not.  It appears they are picking up only our bad habits and personality disorders.

When Mim brought her two kitties (Dexter & Lucy) for a visit all 4 cats got bent out of shape.  Despite having spent quite a bit of time together (and playing!) in the past 6 months they act like they’ve never laid eyes on each other before.  Every human got at least 2 Stink Eyes from at least 2 cats.

 

 

 

 

 

And then………Everycat started Kung Fu Fighting.

Funny GIF - Find & Share on GIPHY

Lucy was the most committed.  She takes her Kung Fu very seriously.  Izzie was a close second because she, too, enjoys the occasional Kung Fu Free-For-All.  Blizzards of slapping happened with staccatos of trash talk.  They are both lovely ladies but I’m pretty sure there were a few ‘fucks’ thrown around and perhaps a little body shaming in between the lightning-fast bitch slaps.

In the meantime, Dexter and Teddy thought they should be doing something.  Dex made the first move – a half-assed slap aimed slightly to the left of Teddy.  Teddy sent a quick poke that fell far short of Dex and that was that.  Dex sort of went “Aw…fuck it!” and took over the top of the spare fridge.  Lucy finally decided that she’d had enough of the opening skirmish and took over the top tier of the Cat Tree.

We humans started nodding our heads going “that went well”, genuinely pleased with the social skills of our Clowder.  Mim and Brad had to leave for a few hours so The Viking and I were the referees should anymore conversations break out.

Eventually, the house settled into quiet.  So quiet, in fact, that I became a little suspicious and went to check on the combatants.  Teddy was humped up taking a poo in Dex and Lucy’s litter box while Izzie was rolling all over their blankets.

“Our cats are now Passive Aggressive!”  I said to The Viking.  “That’s exactly how we would handle an unwanted invasion into our territory.  You would poo in their suitcase and I would spray something smelly on their bed.”

“Why would I be the one to poo in the suitcase?”

“Because that’s definitely a guy thing to do.  Besides, you’re a better pooper than I am.”

Mim and Brad came again this past weekend and our suspicions were confirmed.  Once again, Dexter took over the top of the spare fridge and Lucy commandeered the top tier of the Cat Tree.  Izzie – she’s the brains – and Teddy wandered down the hallway, probably intending to poo and roll again but something else presented itself.

The Viking and I were watching a movie when we heard a loud rustling of plastic.  I went to investigate.  Both cats had ripped open Dexter and Lucy’s treat bag and were busy munching.  When they saw me coming both cats started to eat faster and faster.  By the time I rescued the bag there were only 3 treats left.

How can I be mad when they are doing exactly what we would do?  The Viking and I would totally eat their treats.  And make yum-yum noises as we did it.

I’m fairly certain that Teddy pooped in their litter box at some point and Izzie rolled all over their blankets again but I didn’t actually witness the crime.  Izzie did camp out on the floor in front of the Cat Tree – an “I dare you to come down, Lucy” sort of thing while Teddy took up a position in front of the fridge.  He was less effective because he is on pretty good terms with Dexter.  You have to give him points for his solidarity to his sister though.

So, now I’m wondering if The Viking and I need to be setting a better example.  When someone comes to the front door I have to admit that I’m a little standoffish but I’ve honestly never got into a bitch-slapping fight.  Okay….there was that one time I almost did but I managed to use my words to drive the person off the step.  And to be fair, they were trying to sell me a vacuum cleaner and dumped dirt all over the front door mat.

I suppose I could be more welcoming.  I could offer refreshments and stale cookies.  Would that make the cats better about welcoming their cousins?  It’s doubtful.  The damage is already done, precedence has been set, a routine established.  A change in tradition might cause more harm than good because cats get crazy about changes to the rules.

It’s settled then.  I don’t have to be any nice-r to people bothering me at the front door and The Viking can still poo in suitcases if he doesn’t like the company.

Competitive Sleeping

Hey!  Nice to see you again.  I missed last weekend’s Coffee Share because I was busy watching The Viking electrocute himself.  Happily, despite fiddling with wires that should have been full of electricity, he is still alive and grumbling.

But enough of that.  How are you doing?  Is life treating you good?  Help yourself to coffee and tiny Pecan Tarts that were made for Dwarfs, or maybe Elves or possibly Leprechauns.  I’m just guessing but I think they were meant to be ‘Bite Sized’ but they aren’t.  They are, at a bare minimum, two bites but are actually an awkward three bites where the last bite crumbles in your hand and you end up having to suck the crumbs out of your palm like a Hoover.  It’s not elegant but it is amusing to watch guests try to be polite.

My week was fairly dull, and by dull I mean boring.  Nothing much happened.  Until this morning.  And then it happened before I even got out of bed.

No.  Not that.

We stayed up too late last night so this morning when the Cat Alarm went off at 8:30 I was completely unprepared to get up.  So I shouted “IZZIE!!  SHUT UP!” which seemed to work for about two and a half minutes.  There were several more shouted threats and curses and a giggle from The Viking who apparently found all this amusing.

There was the inevitable tipping point though.  That moment when I didn’t immediately fall back to sleep immediately after threatening death and dismemberment.  And that’s the moment when Competitive Sleeping happened.

Me:  I should get up and make the coffee.

Me:  He’s awake.  He’ll get up any moment.

Me:  He was up later than I was.

Me:  That’s not my fault.  He made his choice.

Me:  Actually, I think he was trying to fix something with the Kodi Box.

Me:  He loves doing that.  It’s like play time for him.

Me:  I’m pretty sure he wasn’t enjoying himself.

Me:  How would you know?  You were asleep.  He might have been Naked Break Dancing for all you know.

Me:  Come on, now.  He would never do that.  He was trying to fix it so tomorrow I wouldn’t have to wait while he tried finding an available stream for a half hour.  That’s how he shows his love.

Me:  Pfft!  He was probably watching porn.

Me:  He doesn’t need to watch porn!  Geez!  Where do you come up with this shit?!

Me:  I’m just saying.

Me:  Don’t.  Just don’t.  I’ll get up and let him sleep in.

Me:  WAIT!  He’s moving!  Maybe he is getting up and will make the coffee.  Wouldn’t that be awesome? 

Me:  Yes, that would be awesome but he’s not moving anymore.  He went back to sleep.

Me:  So wiggle around a little bit!  Snore!  Then he’ll think you’re sleeping.

Me:  But I’m not sleeping anymore.

Me:  He doesn’t know that for sure!  A little snore would convince him he’s more awake than you are.

Me:  Do you even remember last weekend when he got up early and went out to buy fresh buns and cheese and doughnuts?  Getting up and making coffee is the least I could do.

Me:  Well, if you’re going to bring up every obsolete act of kindness every time you want to be selfish, I can’t see any point of me even being here.

Me:  That might be construed as a good thing, you know.

Me:  So you want to get up?    

Me:  No!  Of course not!  But someone has to make coffee and I’m the first one awake.

Me:  He’s awake – probably more awake than you are!  Do you hear any snoring?  Then he isn’t sleeping and if you’d just make a few sleeping noises, he’ll go make the coffee!

Me:  I’m getting up!  I need coffee if I have to keep arguing with you!

Me:  Well, you’ll have to do the dishes too because you didn’t do them last night.  Still want to get out of bed first?

Me:  Bah!  I forgot about that.  There’s every chance that he’ll just make the coffee and I’ll have to do the dishes myself anyway.

Me:  But!  You’ll have coffee ready for you.

Me:  I’ll just do the dishes while I’m waiting for the coffee to brew.

Me:  You are such a pussy!  I want to stay in bed!  Gawd! 

Me:  Stop being so melodramatic.  You’re just getting out of bed, not inventing the wheel you know.

Me:  You’re not going to wear that are you?  It makes you look fat.

Me:  You’re just cranky because I won’t stay in bed.  You loved this shirt last week.

Me:   Well, I had more sleep last week.

I consoled myself by committing to a nap this afternoon.  I love Saturday afternoon naps when I can curl up in my happy place and spend time with just me.  Sure, it’s a weird place sometimes but that’s okay, nobody needs to know.

Thanks, as always, to Nerd in the Brain for hosting Weekend Coffee Share and Part-Time Monster for inventing it.

I’ve been coddled! And it was Horrible!

One minute everything was fine and then suddenly it wasn’t. My left hand just had a meltdown. I don’t know why. I didn’t do anything to the left hand that I didn’t do to the right hand so it seems suspicious that only my left hand decided to be UN-fine.

Whatever the reasons, Leftie started to get sore last week. Knowing how important my hands are, I began massaging the fleshy part of Leftie at the base of the thumb. But that almost seemed to make matters worse. As the night wore on, the pain increased. By the time I went to bed it was bordering on intolerable.

By 2:00am, I couldn’t stand it another minute and decided that I should curse at it and then immobilize it until morning when I could figure out what the fuck was wrong with it.

But here’s an interesting fact: Of all the First Aid Kits that The Viking has strategically placed around the house….not one has a fucking Tension Bandage!

Here’s a partial list of what our First Aid Kits do contain:

  • abdominal cavity wound dressings
  • sucking lung injury dressings
  • splints for every broken bone in the body
  • enough cheap-band aides to cover a large vehicle
  • grease for wheel chairs
  • collapsible crutches
  • fungicide
  • enough gauze to make 9 mummies
  • brain surgery tools
  • 1,498 antiseptic wipes
  • 4 tubes of Triple Antibiotic Ointment
  • One large bottle of Crown Royal and 4 shot glasses
  • 14 slings
  • a saw to remove limbs
  • two hammocks
  • a portable surgery table
  • a big stick with bite marks
  • enough plastic gloves to supply a good sized African village
  • booster cables
  • an Imperial to Metric measurement conversion chart
  • an Ambulance Owner’s Guide
  • Candy for Diabetics with low blood sugar
  • 972 surgical masks with a big, black, droopy moustache on each one
  • And 2 copies of ‘How to Perform an Occipital Lobe Lobotomy for Dummies’

But no fucking Tension Bandage!

So I wrapped a sling around the thumb and hand and finished it off with cotton gauze for good measure. Then…..because it was the middle of the night and because I felt the need to point out the glaring absence of Tension Bandages to The Viking, I left the contents of two Kits spread out all over the table.  Willy-Nilly.

When I wandered into the kitchen the next morning, the exploded First Aid Kits had been reassembled and were sitting neatly on the counter. I slapped both of them – with my right hand, but carefully because the last thing I needed was another fucked up hand – as I went for the coffee pot.

The Viking said, “Oh! Hey babe! Why did you wrap up your hand?”

“BECAUSE IT FUCKING HURTS!” I replied sweetly.

Trying to get dressed was ridiculous! I finally stomped shuffled out of the bedroom with my pants and underwear around my ankles, one boob in the bra and the other dangling helplessly, and my shirt scrunched around my neck. The Viking helped me pull up my pants, tucked the other boob in the bra and pulled my shirt down while I stood there scowling. I have to give him credit for not laughing, or even smiling, and he only flicked one nipple once, proving his restraint.

Then, things got strange. He came in from the garage and filled up my coffee – just the way I like it. When I came home from the bank, he trotted out to see if there was anything that needed to be taken into the house. He came in the house 4 times to help me pull up my pants after I peed. He helped make supper. He filled our water glasses when we were watching TV that evening. He brought out snacks and then put the bowls in the dishwasher.

Me: “Are you leaving me?!”

Him: “What the fuck?! No! Of course not! Why would you even ask that?!”

Me: “Are you dying?!”

Him: “NO! At least I don’t think so.”

Me: Am I dying?! Did my Doctor call and tell you I’m dying and now you are trying to make my last few hours on earth as pleasant as possible?!”

Him: “No.”

Me: “Then what the fuck are you doing?!”

Him: “What do you mean?”

Me: “You’re being all nice and doing things for me and you’ve never done that stuff before.”

Him: “Maybe I’m trying to be less of a Grumpy Asshole.”

Me: “Why? I’m accustomed to the Grumpy Asshole.”

Him: …..

Me: “Oh my gawd!! You’re coddling me!!”

Him: “I am not!”

Me: “Yes you are!”

Him: “No. I’m. Not!”

Me: “Yes you are!”

Him: “Shut up and watch the show!”

The Viking coddled me the entire weekend. Even when I said that Leftie was starting to feel better. It was wonderful and I loved it!  Who wouldn’t? But, you know when something is so good that you start wondering how you got so lucky? And then you think there must be a downside? Like if chocolate were calorie free but it gave you Diarrhea?

Me: “Are you having an affair?! What’s her name?”

Him: “I’m not having an affair, for fucksakes! When would I have time?”

Me: “You went to Barney’s last night! Or maybe you didn’t go to Barney’s! Is he covering for you?!”

Him: “He’s not covering for me because I’m not having a fucking affair!

Me: “Then why are you being so damned nice?!

Him: “Maybe because I love you and I’m usually such a Grumpy Bastard but now I’m trying to be better!!”

Me: ……….

Him: ………

Me: “Well, STOP IT! YOU’RE DRIVING ME CRAZY!!”

via GIPHY

Naps, a Slap Chop & I May Have Been Wrong

You know when you have one of those moments when everything you thought you knew turns out to be completely wrong? Like you find out that Karen is actually Sharon and you’ve been calling her the wrong name for 3 months? Well, I had one of those moments on Sunday.

Since our return from Vacation, The Viking and I have been exhausted. We are just barely hanging in there, waiting for Day Light Savings to kick in on the 6th. So, when Saturday rolled around, I went for a nap and it was the loveliest nap I’ve ever taken!

There was a moment though when a terrible banging was going on in the kitchen. At first I thought maybe The Viking wasn’t happy about my napping and he was being Passive Aggressive. This wasn’t a vague, barely audible banging, this was a deafening, shake-the-house kind of banging. I was too tired to really care at that moment, and while most times I would have charged out of the bedroom, wild-eyed, bellowing “What the fuck was that noise?!”, this time I just waited until it stopped and then fell into a warm, dreamless cocoon.

Once I was awake enough…..

Me: What was all that banging earlier?

The Viking: I didn’t hear any banging.

Me: That’s impossible. It shook the whole house.

The Viking: Seriously. I didn’t hear any banging.

Me: It was you! You were out here banging something like you weren’t happy that I was taking a nap!

The Viking: I don’t know what you’re talking about. I don’t have an issue with you having a nap. You can do whatever the fuck you want.

Me: So you weren’t banging just to ruin my nap?

The Viking: No. That would be childish.

And here’s where everything went sideways.

Me: Then I would like to have naps like that every day!

The Viking: Only on the weekends. Week days are for working, not napping.

Me (indignant): Of course only on the weekends! You don’t need to suggest that I don’t know enough not to nap on work days!

The Viking: I just wanted to be clear.

Me: What if I’m sick?

The Viking: Well, of course if you’re sick…..

Me (shrugging): I just wanted to make sure I understood the Fine Print.

The Viking: Ok……….Mim.

An explosion happened in my head. Actually….several explosions. My face must have gone slack with shock because The Viking started laughing. “You didn’t think of that, did you?”

No. I didn’t.  But that sounded exactly like something Mim would say.  I’ll bet she has actually said that to me at some point.  I always thought Mim was like her father.  Could I have possibly gotten this wrong for twenty…..how old is she again?…..2016 minus 1989 equals…..where the fuck is the calculator?!…..TWENTY-SEVEN YEARS?! Is she really twenty-seven years old?! That makes me…..

Focus. Age is for another time.

I start scrolling back in time, flashes of memories examined through this new filter.

Fuck!

I did get it wrong. There’s no other explanation.

Double Fuck!

Of course that’s what I would have done if my mother had taken my Beanie Babies away (except I grew up in a corporal punishment world and never had anything worth taking away). And that’s why she sucked at math! And that’s why she doesn’t have the grace of a gazelle. And that’s why she hates turnips and sauerkraut! And that’s why she has trouble with clocks!

Well, I can’t tell her any of this. I can’t admit that I got it all wrong….for 27 fucking years! Right now I have plausible deniability. If she suspected…..well….there would probably be a Turkey Dance and some “I told you so”s. She probably knows the exact number of times I told her she was just like her father. Of course there is a whole conversation here that Freud would have loved but I’m not going to get into it. The fact remains that since The Viking gave me permission to just be me, all my weirdness looks exactly like Mim’s weirdness.

Triple Fuck!

So, how do I contain this? I know I won’t tell her because….well….I’m the Mom and Moms are always right! Right? But when The Viking has a couple of drinks he gets all honest and sincere and will spill the beans. I need to explain to him the catastrophic effects of Mim finding out that her Mom might have been wrong about something fundamental to her childhood. She might have considered the possibility but a confirmation would completely change the dynamic, undermine the entire child/parent principle.

The Viking is the weak link here. This may call for the application of a Headlock again. I don’t condone violence so it will be a gentle Headlock, more like a caress really, but he tends to listen closer when there is nothing to distract him. Well, there is the problem of my boobs but a thick sweater and a tight sports bra will camouflage them enough to get the job done. And I should try to catch him off guard, like when he’s putting on his socks or in the shower.

The Viking: Why are you looking at me like that?

Me: What? Um. Nothing. So why were you banging so loud if not to annoy me out of a nap?

The Viking: I wasn’t banging.

Me: Yes, you were.

The Viking: Maybe it was Junior.

Me: IT WASN’T JUNIOR!! It was you! In the kitchen! The neighbors must have heard it!

The Viking: I think you dreamed it.

Me: I didn’t dream it! It sounded like you were banging two pots together.

The Viking: Ohhhhh. I was using the Slap Chop to cut up the onions.

Me: You do remember that we have that small electric chopper don’t you? No banging required.

The Viking: It’s not the same.

Me: Of course it’s not the same. It’s quiet.

The Viking: Whatever.

I made a mental note to make that Headlock/Caress just a fraction harder. When I catch him off guard.

Coffee, Wedgies and Nipple Flicking

Come in! Coffee is ready.

OH! Watch the kitten…..she bites! I know she’s absolutely adorable but she’s like a rose with extra thorns. And it’s probably not a good idea to sit on that particular chair because she uses it as a launch pad to get to the window or as an aid to change directions in a flat out race. You’ll feel like you’ve been molested by the time you leave.

Okay. You’ve been warned.  :o)

So, I decided that I just don’t get enough fun time during an ordinary day. I haven’t pulled The Viking’s pants down in the garage for eons or given him a Wedgie either. I think it’s because he doesn’t react; he just stands there putting that carburetor together without missing a beat while his pants are around his ankles. Honestly, I’ve gotten bored with his lack of reaction and gone in the house. I did wonder once if I should just pull his pants up again for him but then I thought “No way! What little fun I did get out of Pantsing him would be obliterated!” I think he’s being Passive Aggressive or something. One time he cooked a whole pound of bacon and fried 4 eggs with his pants around his ankles.

No. I’m not kidding you. I stood beside the table the entire time and he never pulled up his pants. I think I even asked, “Aren’t you going to pull up your pants?” and he said, “What the fuck for? You’ll just pull them down again.” Which was probably true.

The one time I actually did get a reaction was when I started flapping his left nipple when we were reading in bed. I kept reading but my finger was flicking the nipple at approximately 6 flicks per second. He didn’t do anything! So I moved it up to about 8 flicks per second. Still nothing! Finally, at about 15 flicks per second he said, “What the fuck are you doing?” I’m not sure what kind of reaction I was hoping for but that wasn’t even close! Maybe mutual nipple flicking? I don’t know but after a while I got bored and stopped flicking it.

Exactly! That would have been a load of fun! There would be laughing and giggling and finger flicking…..it would have been awesome! Instead, it’s a bloody shame.  Sometimes, when I’m walking past him, I’ll give one of his nipples a half-hearted flick but I’m beyond expecting a reaction anymore.

And then, night before last, we had a conversation:

I said to The Viking: You know what we’ve never done? Wrestle. We should wrestle.

He said: No.

Me: Why not?

Him: I don’t want to hurt you.

Me: What kind of wrestling do you think I’m talking about? Optimus Prime vs. Megatron?

Him: Someone always gets hurt wrestling.

Me: Not always! When it’s love-wrestling no one gets hurt and maybe it’ll end up in something else entirely.

Him: No.

Me: Come on! You’ve never chased me around the bed before either.

Him: Why would I chase you around the bed? That just wastes a lot of time and we don’t need that shit!

Me: Well….not a lot of time because the bedroom isn’t that big. And now that I’m thinking about, it we can’t run around the bed so we’d have to crawl over the bed. That would make it the slowest chase in recorded history – like getting run over by a steam roller. And there would be a significant risk of me getting a boob caught under my knee. Fine! You don’t have to chase me around the bed.

Him: Pfft!

Me: That doesn’t excuse the lack of love-wrestling going on in this house.

Him: I’m not fucking wrestling with you. You’ll get hurt!  I’m only trying to protect you!

Me: …..

Him: …..

Me: You’re one of those people who are ‘in it to win it’, aren’t you!

Him: …..

Me: You always have to win, don’t you?!

Him: Oh for fucksakes!

Me: You always have to have the last word too.

Him: I do not.

Me: Yes you do.

Him: I do not.

Me: See? The last word.

Him: FOR FUCKSAKES!! I’m going to read!

Me (calling after him as he stomps down the hallway): Last word!!

So, I guess wrestling is off the table. I’m down to prank phone calls now. When I go shopping and he’s all alone to answer the phones I’ll call and ask if Mike Hunt is there. He’ll probably recognize my voice though. Sigh.

OH! Let me get you a Bandaid. And some Peroxide. I told you she bites. I’ve been buying Bandaids in bulk since we got her.

I’m so glad you dropped by. I’ve missed you terribly. We have to get better at staying in touch.

Toilet Paper, a Swiss Army Knife and a Massacre

Saturday was Viking Days at the Danish Canadian Museum. The Viking and I were…..well, not giddy exactly….but pretty excited. We’ve never attended a Viking Massacre before.  Now that I think about it though, perhaps The Viking didn’t think this whole plan through because maybe I shouldn’t be trusted with knowledge involving massacre-ing Vikings. I’m only human, after all, and not always in a good mood. But…..too late now! It’s not like I can un-learn it.

We stuffed the Goldwing with a blanket, Swiss Army Knife, food, water, sandals, a sweater each, next of kin notification in a fire-proof box, driver’s licenses, bear spray, antacids, matches in a water proof/fire proof container, Tylenol, first aid kit, night vision goggles, extra earphones, a jerry can full of gas, a machete, compass, toilet paper, bug spray and The Viking’s contribution – an extra set of helmets (Don’t even ask because I can’t explain it).

I was in charge of what to pack while The Viking was in charge of complaining about what I wanted to pack.

I shouldn’t have to explain this every single time we want to go somewhere but apparently I do. Things happen when you leave home:

  • We could be hit by a car because the driver was texting 911 as he was having a heart attack.
  • An abnormally large insect could smash through the windshield of the bike, through the mask on his helmet and lodge itself in his left eye causing us to careen out of control, over an embankment and blow up in a fiery explosion. Admittedly, Polysporin probably wouldn’t be much help in this instance but maybe we would survive and then it would come in handy.
  • One of the Vikings could go rogue and we’d be forced to fight for our lives with our bare hands until we could steal a battle axe and then we would have to flee into the woods and maybe get lost and have to spend the night huddled together for warmth under a tree.
  • One of us could get heartburn from our picnic lunch.
  • There could be an earthquake and we might be cut off from civilization for whole minutes where my cell phone won’t work and we’ll have to make a fire to send smoke signals to the kids that we’re okay and that we will find them one day soon.
  • My earphones may stop working which would be a disaster because all I will be able to listen to is muffled wind or worse…..The Viking’s choice of music.  Shudder.
  • We could run out of gas on one of those range roads and suddenly the movie ‘Deliverance’ could happen and we’d have to slog our way through steamy swamps to escape.
  • One of us may need to pee/poo while we’re on one of those range roads and squatting in the ditch behind a shrub might become necessary and we’ll hope this doesn’t coincide with the scenario above because that would be really embarrassing.
  • We could be attacked by a bear while we are stopped for a drink so we have to stand and fight it to the death.   Or hit it with bear spray.
  • What if we’re motorcycle-jacked and have to track the culprits down and take our revenge?
  • What if your tipping maneuver going around corners does what physics says it should do and we slide and I’m spit out by centrifugal force to land in a stranger’s car? I should probably pack a box of chocolates or something to say thanks for the great catch.
  • What if we break down and have to catch a ride in the back of a truck hauling 3 pigs and a goat? I should pack a big jug of Febreez.

The possibilities for catastrophe are infinite! The Viking might swear and grouch but if something ever did happen he’d be like “You are the best woman ever! So smart! Thank Gawd I have you or I’d be fucked!  I’m so sorry for yelling at you.  Can you ever forgive me?” Or something like that.

So, loaded up and dressed in my best facsimile of Biker Gear, we headed out. We met Mim and Darb part way, who then proceeded to make The Viking and I feel stupid by pointing out that Mim has a GPS on her phone and doesn’t need the 18 pages of directions we printed at home. Fuck.

We had to take one gravel road which is never fun on a motorcycle and it’s even less fun when you are following a vehicle. By the time we hit pavement again we looked like those sand creatures from Star Wars. Why didn’t I think to bring our Shark Vacuum?! I should have known we might need to vacuum ourselves off!  Instead, we had to spend 5 minutes smacking the shit out of each other to get most of the dust out of our clothes.

The weather was beautiful at the Museum and crowds were already gathering for the big Massacre. We found a great vantage point on a grassy knoll and sat down to wait for blood and gore.

Soon, a big guy decked out in chainmail, helmet, shield and sword strode into the impromptu arena and started declaring himself the best warrior ever. And then another guy came out and declared the first guy was ‘Full of Shit’ and a fight ensued where the second guy died and the ‘full of shit’ guy proved he actually wasn’t ‘full of shit’. A woman came out and declared that she was a Shield Maiden and would kick his warrior ass but instead, promptly died. Booooooo! Boooooo!!

Another 4 guys came out trying to prove the first guy was ‘full of shit’ but they all died too which left no one for him to kill.  The crowd shouted ‘MEAD’! and all the dead people came back to life so the first guy could kill them all over again. By then he was just being a bully.

The violence ended when an army of children arrived, armed with short pool noodles and massacred every Viking on the field. The crowd shouted ‘MEADE’! again and all the dead people came back to life so they could be massacred all over again. The death and violence was awesome and it was great to see all the kids dressed up for massacre-ing with their little helmets and shields. Good wholesome fun! I wish my parents had taken me massacre-ing when I was young. I would probably be a much better Viking now.

There were some very good artisans set up and we enjoyed browsing. The Viking bought me a beautiful set of amber ear rings (I hope we don’t get robbed on our way back to the bike because I left the machete in the side bag) and we found out where we can buy free-range pigs. That in itself was worth the admission fee.

The trip home was uneventful except for the Iced Maple Cappuccino we stopped for in Olds, which turned out not to be an event but delicious anyway. So we didn’t need the machete for sure. Or the night vision goggles and the water proof matches.

I’m sure that the next time we want to go somewhere The Viking will cite this one trip as evidence that we don’t need such things as Machetes or Night Vision Goggles. But he’s not in charge of what we pack. I am. He’s only in charge of The Complaints Department and the Putting It All In The Vehicle Department.

Because that’s what he’s good at.

 

Empty….or What a Cat Taught Me

When I left my 23 year marriage I felt like an elastic band that had been pulled too tight and suddenly the pressure was gone and I was left limp and empty and shapeless. It took quite a while to get accustomed to that loosey goosey feeling and only slightly longer to love it.

Then one day I was browsing around a home décor store on my lunch break and found this:

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