Monday, April 11, 2005

"Yes, Dear"

How much trouble can a 20-something married couple get into? Read and learn.

"Blech, Jamie, what is that smell?"

"That, Jason, is the smell of clean."

"Clean stinks."


Getting ready in the morning.

Jamie: stretch, shower, shampoo, soap, facial, condition, shave, brush teeth, towel off, moisturize body, moisturize face, clean ears, deodorize, select outfit, dress carefully, pluck, comb, part, style, dry hair, mousse, curl, apply makeup, sip orange juice, glance at horoscopes, gather belongings, check weather, put on shoes, switch hand bags, locate keys, put on coat.

Jason: eat 7 slices of toast, put on whatever clothes found on the floor.

"But Jason, you can't go out like that. Your hair is sticking up all over the place."

"Oh, it's okay, I'm going to wear my toque."


"It's okay, you like my toque. I look hot in it, remember?"


Jason has done something stupid. Again. To taunt him, I sing (to the tune of the Oscar Meyer song):

My husband is a moron, M-O-R-O-N

My husband is a -

"Hey, Mormon? I'm not a Mormon. I'm from Earth."


Last summer. Well, make that late spring.

It's been a not-so-sunny Saturday, but Jason wants to go for a swim. He has to test it first (of course), so he peels off his sock and dips in his baby toe. His entire 6'2 frame shudders and he declares "We are NOT going in." He crosses his arms for emphasis.

I kneel down to feel the water. At 72 degrees, it feels nice to me. I've been swimming since 57. "Wuss." After all these years, I still like to boost his ego as little as possible. "Wuss, wuss, wuss." I sing the words over and over as I dance around and wiggle my eyebrows at him.

"Come here and say that to me."

Puffing up to my full height of 5'2 on a good day, I stare him in the eye and repeat "Wuss, wuss, wuss."

The wheels are turning in his head. I know his idea before he does, and I wait patiently while he catches up. I like to let him have his fun every now and then.

He picks me up and jumps right in. I am so proud of him. "You know, I respect you ten times more now."

Wet jeans weigh 40 pounds and memories like that last forever. Later, when we are peeling off our wet clothes, Jason looks pensive. "How is it that you have room to respect me ten times more?"

I smile and kiss him. That's my boy.


(Jamie, pointing at a cake on the internet) "Mmm, doesn't this one look good?"

"Don't touch the screen! I hate it when you get fingerprints all over the screen!"

"But Jason, this is my computer, and it doesn't bother me."

"Well, at work, I keep Windex on my desk at all times. People are always coming over with their greasy fingers and pointing all over my screen. I can't stand it."

"Are you saying I have greasy fingers?" (Jamie is now fondling the screen full-throttle).

"Erm...uh....oh god, let it stop."

And then, with an evil glint in her eye, Jamie takes her 'premium lip protection' out of her pocket. She is prepared to sacrifice it for the greater good. She uncaps it, and proceeds to graffiti up the screen with her chapstick. Jason collapses to the floor in a dead faint.

Jamie squints at the screen through the convoluted, waxy mess for 3 days before Jason finally breaks down and cleans it up.


It's bedtime. The room is dark and cool. The sheets feel good around them. Jason presses himself up against his wife. She puts her arms around him, and breathes him in.

"Mmm, the intoxicating scent of dandruff shampoo," she whispers.


Jason comes home after 11 hours at the office.

"Did you miss me?"


"I missed you immensely."

"Hey, I said enormously."

"I know, but I said immensely."

"Well enormously is bigger than immensely."

"Okay, then I love you whatever's even bigger."

"Fuck you, Jason."


Jason has been talking to his friends at the bar for 10 minutes now. He has a beer in his hand, and Jamie, who was "right behind you, buddy", is nowhere in sight. He sets down his drink, and has a nice, leisurely search for her. He finds her in the parking lot, chatting up some strangers. This is not unusual.

"They have lovely blueberries at Farm Boy right now," she is telling them. She is gesturing wildly enough to take out an unassuming passerby should one get close enough.

The two women hug Jamie as they depart.

"Call me to let me know how it goes!" she yells after them. They turn, smile, and wave.

Jamie runs over to Jason, ready to play catch-up at the bar. Jason knows she will outdrink all the boys.

"Sorr-rryy", she says, with a grin that tells him she isn't sorry at all.

"Didn't your mother ever tell you not to talk to strangers?"

"Hey, I figure that no stranger can be half as bad as some of my relatives, and I'm practically obligated to talk to them."

Jason sighs, and opens the door for her.


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