I know how much you love to read about the pillow talk between me and my husband, you little voyeur. What? Is that not the right word? Oh wells. Sticking with it. Last night, we had a good one. Pillow talk, that is. So funny that I was in tears, actually. Because I think it was so hilarious, I’m assuming you’ll think it’s dumb or you won’t get it. That’s fine. I’d just like to have it for my records, to someday remind my husband that he told his imaginary therapist (whom I invented) that he thought I was smart. It’s on record.
The scene: We were just getting settled in bed. Jay was playing a game on his phone. I was bored.
Me: Do you think I’m smart?
Me: But, do you just think I’m average or would you say I’m above average intelligence?
Jay: (mostly ignoring me) Above.
Me: So, say you sit down with a therapist for the first time and he says, “Tell me about your wife.” What would you say?
Jay: I’d say that you’re very smart. Above average smart.
Me: Aw, that’s so nice of you. Thanks for thinking I’m smart.
::Fast forward five minutes. Jay sits up on the edge of the bed, and I began snapping the top of his boxers::
Me: Look! I’m pretending to play that instrument that you pluck with your fingers!
Jay: ::pushing me away from him:: Uuuuum, a guitar?
Me: No! Not a guitar. Gosh. I know what a guitar is. A mini guitar. You know. A mini banjo.
Jay: Nope. I don’t know.
Me: You know mini banjos? Like the kind they play around a campfire at the beach, with no shoes on?
Me: Jay! You know! Like in Hawaii?
Jay: Soooo you don’t mean a campfire with your friends? You mean a campfire in Hawaii? … You mean a ukulele?
Me: Yeah! I think so! Wait. Is that the mini banjo or is that the wooden flute they play?
Jay: Are you being serious right now? The wooden flute that WHO plays? You’re not being serious. There is no “mini banjo”.
Me: Yes! Like, in order of size, it goes guitar, banjo, mini-banjo aka ukulele. Right? So a ukulele is a mini banjo, not the wooden flute?
Jay: No. I just … no. Are you pretending to be dumb or is this serious? Why do you keep saying wooden flute?
Me: I’m serious! Also, you can only play the mini banjo –
Jay: – ukulele.
Me: .. the mini banjo in Hawaii, correct? Regular sized people can’t play that. Their fingers are too big.
Jay: Still nope. That is also incorrect. I don’t even know what you’re talking about. I’m beginning to rethink what I’d tell my therapist.
Yesterday at dinner, my sister yelled at me for teasing her with a second blog post that never was. I reminded her that I WARNED my readers that I would probably flake out and forget. NOBODY CAN BE MAD AT ME FOR THAT.
Anyways, the other night The Husband and I went out to dinner. Besides us, there were only three other tables with patrons – all of them a dad alone with a kid. “Is this divorced dad night?” I asked. He didn’t know the answer. I told him that I hope that he’s never a divorced dad and he said he wouldn’t be.
Me: “Oh, because when you get sick of me, you’ll just kill me, huh?”**
Me: “How will you kill me?”
Jason: “Why would I tell you that? A murderer doesn’t tell how he plans to kill someone. Then you can go to the cops and ruin everything.”
Me: “I won’t tell anyone. I just want to know. I hate surprises. I don’t want to be surprised right before death. How are you going to kill me?”
Jason: “I’m not. Let’s end this conversation.”
Me: “But if you haaaaaaad to kill me, how would you do it? I don’t want it to be anything painful, ok? I just want to ease into death. So no slicing or shooting or anything.”
Me: “So let’s just figure out how you’re going to do it so that we can all move on with our lives.”
Jason: ::ignoring me and eating::
Me: “Ooo, I know! You could take me out to dinner and poison me. Then, they’ll suspect the restaurant and not you. Ooo, but good point. If we’re on the brink of divorce, why are we going out to dinner?”
Jason: “One last shot at reconciliation?”
Me: “Yup! Ok, now what are you going to use to poison me?”
Jason: “I don’t know. Rat poison?”
Me: “What? C’mon now. This isn’t a cartoon. I’ll never eat something with rat poison in it. You can definitely taste rat poison, I bet. Ooo, I know. You should use my own pills against me. Everyone knows I pop pills like candy. You should manipulate some of my sleeping pills and it’ll look like an overdose. Ooo, ok. This is good. That way, I’ll just fall into a gentle sleep. So you’ll kill me like that then, right?”
So guys, if I die from a seemingly accidental overdose, please show this to the police. And then, show the police the rest of the blog, so that Jason doesn’t get into too much trouble. He did it by reason of insanity.
** I’d like to note that I don’t actually think my husband will murder me. Although, I bet all murdered wives say that before they’re murdered. But, definitely, definitely not Jason. He actually has a much higher level of tolerance for my craziness than I would if it were the other way around. This is not a cry for help. A vivid imagination? Sure. But definitely not a cry for help. Nobody is hurting me in my home. ^^
^^Jason made me say this. ##
## Just kidding.
You MAY (probably not) get a double post from me today. But worry about that later, Reader. Right now, I want to share another bed time convo (or, rather, two rolled into one.) Over dinner last night, I decided that the reason I’m sharing these private, intimate conversations between me and my husband on my blog is so that when The Husband finally snaps, having enough of my shenanigans, and murders me**, the cops can look here and be all “Well, she really DID deserve it. She drove the dude crazy.” And then he’ll be allowed to live in a cushy mental institution somewhere. And maybe he’ll meet a pretty girl like Winonna Ryder or Halle Berry and they’ll heal and be able to start their lives over together. I mean, I don’t want him to go to jail for it because I instigate. I’m pretty sure its coming yet I continue to say things like this:
Preface: I’m not sure how this conversation started, but I know I was trying to tell Jason something and he wasn’t listening. He then said something along the lines of “I’d like to have a wife who X” (I forgot what X was. X = wasn’t so annoying? X= can cook well? Not sure. But his insult is not the point.)
Me: Oh yeah? Well I’D like to have a HUSBAND who listens to me when I’m trying to talk to him, instead of ignoring me.
Jason: I’m not ignoring you. When did I ignore you?
Me: Last night!
Jason: Well, I’d like to have a wife who doesn’t ask me how big a brontosaurus’ head is.
Me: Whoa! You are way off base here, pal. I did NOT ask you that … last night. Last night, I was talking about whether or not I thought a pterodactyl would eat human eye balls, or if they’re just herbivores.
Jason: Fair enough. My apologies.
**Reader, I bet you’re sitting there and thinking to yourself, “Gee, I wonder if Heather ever forced Jason into a conversation about how he’d murder her, if he HAAAAD to, and, when he wouldn’t answer, she gave him several plausible scenarios, thus helping to plan her own murder.” I’m going to go ahead and confirm that, yes that happened last night at dinner. If I’m not feeling lazy later, I will type it up for you, foiling all of Jason’s (my own) murder plans. Don’t get your hopes up. I’ll most likely forget.
I can’t be the only one who climbs into bed with her husband at night, snuggles up and asks questions about dinosaurs and other prehistoric animals, amirite? You guys also spend lots of pillow talk discussing which various dinosaurs would fit into various places in and around your home, right? …
Because we’ve had this conversation several times, I’m paraphrasing:
Heather: Jay, I know brontosaurs isn’t his real name, but would a brontosaurs’s head fit into our bedroom.
Heather: But, like would it take up the entire room? If we had a window big enough for a brontosaurs to stick his head in, would it fill up the whole room? Would we be inside his mouth?
Jay: I’m not sure. Probably.
Heather: How many dinosaurs could we fit in our back yard? We DO have a double lot.
Jay: I’m not sure what you’re saying, here. Like, if we were to corral dinosaurs into our backyard? Why would we do that?
Heather: Well, because they’re friendly dinosaurs and they just need a place to stay so we’re going to keep them safe in our back yard. A stegosaurs and a triceratops. These two guys are friends and they want to stay together. Could they both fit in our backyard? Comfortably?
Jay: Yeah, probably.
Heather: Oh, that’s great! Good for them. Would a brontosaurs fit inside our house if there were no walls?
Heather: Hey! Wake up. I’m not done yet. Do you think a brontosaurs would fit in our house? I really just want to know how big his head is. Should we Google that? Don’t you think we deserve to know whether or not his head would take up our whole bedroom or just some of it? Could you just Google that for me, please?
Jay: :::reluctantly rolls over and gets on his phone:: Ok, he was 90 feet long and 15 feet tall. If you stood up next to him, you would barely come up to his knees.
Heather: Ok, but what about his head?
Jay: It doesn’t say. I don’t know, Heather. Go to sleep.
Heather: When I was little, I used to have this toy that was a headset that talked to you and read you science stories. It was very advanced. It was like Siri, but in 1990. You used to plug cartridges into it. Do you remember that toy?
Heather: Hey! Wake up! Do you remember that toy? It would read you stories about outer space and animals and my best one was about dinosaurs. What’s the name of that toy? If I still had it, I would be rich with knowledge about dinosaurs and I wouldn’t have to ask you.
Heather: It’s rude to fall asleep when someone is both trying to increase their knowledge about dinosaurs AND reminiscing about their childhood.
So, the next day I tried Googling the name of the toy, but no luck. Nobody on Facebook could remember, either. I asked my dad, who used to play with it with me, assuming he’d have no clue what I was talking about. He found it online less than five minutes after I asked. AND he thinks it’s still somewhere in their house. It’s called the Texas Instruments voyager.
Soon, I’ll know so much about dinosaurs.