Conversations With Mike

Convo #1

Me:  I can only assume your silence pertaining to this matter is your angled attempt to see if I accidentally forgot about Christmas this year.  Shockingly, I didn’t.  I am going to need you to bring Big Baby up from the basement and then go hang up the Christmas lights outside.

Mike:  (Pouring a glass of wine) I had a patient come in today who is a firefighter.  Last year he fell off the ladder while hanging Christmas lights, broke both his legs and had to get stitches in his elbow.

Me:  You better be careful.  That would suck.

Mike:  And another guy I know fell and broke three ribs.

Me:  God, their poor wives, first no Christmas lights that year and then having to take care of them. Ugh. 

Mike:  (Pouring another glass of wine) Remember the Christmas I spent all alone right before we met and I told you how sad and lonely I was to get you to sleep with me?

Me:  Yep.  It totally worked.  (Holding up a hand to high-five him)

Whatever.  The quintessence of perceptive and insightful parenting is to teach children the significance of Santa Claus’ birthday.  At least one of us is keen on instilling the value of materialism to our impressionable daughters. 

Convo #2

A side effect to having children is developing schizophrenia.  I woke up in the middle of the night because I thought I heard one of my daughters crying.  I stumbled down the hall to check on them and they were both sound asleep.  I sleepily felt my way into the dark bathroom and sat down to pee.  Mike woke up and stumbled into the bathroom startling me.

Me:  AHHHHH! DON’T PEE ON ME!

Mike:  AHHHHH! GODDAMMIT!  YOU SCARED THE SHIT OUT OF ME!

Both of Us:  AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!

We both climbed back in bed. 

Mike:  Did you really just tell me not to pee on you?

I cannot believe after ten years together, the only thing Mike can think of to spice up our marriage is a golden shower.  Gross.

Convo #3

Mike and I were lying in bed watching a stupid movie when I convinced Mike to rub my back.  I was elated when he conceded because Mike generally regards human touch with derision based on the traumas he endured in his normal, functional childhood.  I rolled onto my stomach.

Me:  Thank you soooooooooooo much!  Could you please pay special attention to my neck?  I was on the phone all day with my mom and my sister and it is K-I-L-L-I-N-G me.

Mike:  Oh of course honey.

Me:  I seriously doubt most couples share our elevated level of intimacy.

Mike:  (Sat on my butt, straddling me) I am sure they don’t.

And then Mike proceeded to FART on me and would not let me get up despite the ferocity of my flailing limbs.

Me:  AHHHHHHHHH!  YOU JUST FUCKING FART RAPED ME!  GET OFF ME!

Mike:  (Laughing hysterically like a moron)  Soooooorrrry, it just slipped out!

Me:  No, that was premeditated and I am pressing charges!  Get off of me right now!

Mike:  (Having trouble breathing because he was laughing so hard and me abstaining from any resusitation attempts in case he actually was dying) Okay, okay calm down!

Mike was still convulsing in laughter because for a dentist, a fart is like the “ultimate funny.”  While he was busy studying smart things in dental school, us average folk had mastered and surpassed the juvenile level of flatulence comedy approximately twenty years prior.  I started laughing too, not because of the fart (which wasn’t even thaaaaat good) but because he looked like such a fucking idiot with his face bright red, body hunched over, gasping for air, tears pouring out his eyes, laughing at his own joke.  Then we woke the kids up because we were both laughing so hard.

I hope you all had a nice Thanksgiving!  XO