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.
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.
In a NyQuil induced state last night (Who gets sick in July? Seriously!), I asked Jason the following questions about butterflies:
Do you think their wings get tired when they fly too much?
Do they have lungs?
One of my (many) favorite things about our relationship is that when I ask The Husband any series of absurd questions, regardless of my over the counter medication intake, he never pauses and answers them to the best of his knowledge. He never questions why I am questioning anything. He doesn’t (usually) ask what train of thought led me to where we ended up, or why I thought I should share it out loud with him. We’re married. We’re one cohesive unit. If something is on my mind, then surely it is weighing on his, too
I tell myself.
Conversations like this are more the norm than not. (This is not verbatim, but it’s how I remember it. Mostly. Jason, you can feel free to jump in here to correct anything.)
Heather: Do butterfly wings get tired if they fly too much?
Jason: Do your lungs get tired when you breathe too much? No. It’s just what they’re supposed to do. Their wings are supposed to do that.
Heather: Yes, when I’m sick they do. Also, my legs are supposed to walk me but if I walk too much then, yes, they get tired.
Heather: Ok, what? Ok their wings get tired?
Heather: Jase, wake up. I have another question about butterflies. Jason? Jason?
Heather: Do butterflies have lungs?
Jason: Yeah, I think. Probably. It’s a living thing. Every living thing has lungs, I think. Or gils.
Heather: I don’t think they do. I don’t think they have lungs like a human. Or like dogs.
Jason: ::Tries to roll me over and trick me into going to sleep by cuddling with me. After five years, he should have known that wouldn’t work.::
Heather: Do butterflies have organs like humans? Like, do they have a liver?
Jason: I don’t think so.
Heather: Do they have kidneys? Do butterflies have a pancreas?
Jason: You’re naming all useless organs.
Heather: What does that mean? Useless?
Jason: That humans could live without them, so why would butterflies need them?
Heather: But do they have them? I don’t think they do. Jase, are you awake? Jason? I don’t think butterflies have the same stuff inside them as people or animals. I don’t think they have lungs, even though they’re alive and have to fly fast. And their wings probably get tired so they need to rest and regain their strength, but not catch their breath because I don’t think they have lungs. Jase?
At this point, I let it go and decided to take advantage of the only good part of being sick – the peaceful, drug induced sleep.
So, for you folks wondering at home, I did some research. Butterflies do NOT have lungs. Insects breathe through a simple, passive respiration. What does that mean, you ask? Well, let me enlighten you.
Butterflies have series of small pores on either side of the abdomen, called spiracles, that are used to draw in oxygen. Inside, a series of tracheal tubes channel the air to different parts of the body.
Also, more great news. Butterflies have TWO hearts. No kidneys or livers.
That information comes from NatureMuseum.org and everyone knows that if something is “.org” then it’s legit.
So, there’s your Reading Rainbow moment of the day. You’re welcome.
Ps- Guys, I’m still siiiiiiick.