Have I mentioned how awesome ya'll are? I was suffering from a hefty case of BISD - desperately wringing the washcloth of my life for droplets of funny . . . (Ooh, that's deep! Go ahead and use that, right along with the dishwasher analogy. Heh)
But I needn't have worried, (Is "needn't" a word? Why doesn't Typepad give me the red squiggly line? I NEED the red squiggly line!) because you, my faithful readers, have stuck with me, through good posts and meh. (Meh is said with an accompanying hand gesture - just stick your hand out, palm down, fingers splayed, and tilt it back and forth a few times)
And one last prop for you (and then we'll move on to today's subject) - telling me I'm funny? Hello! I love that! It's probably the best compliment I've ever received. It took me like three hours to get the smirk off my upper lip. But that's enough about you. You're money. You're so money! 'nuff said.
No, today I want to talk about John. He's pretty money himself, as I'm sure I've made clear in various posts, despite his protestations that I didn't capture his "cool" in my last one. His exact comment was:
I have to protest the "digits" story. You got the gist of the events right but the accuracy of my dialogue is questionable. You did not make me sound nearly as cool as I was.
I thought I would share the e-mail exchange that followed his comment. I e-mailed him this:
I called you "fly", didn't I? And hey - I had forgotten the Mignon part of the story or you would have seemed like a MUCH bigger geek for saying "Like the steak?" - oy, I could have had fun with that! But, since I love you, or, more accurately, because I'd forgotten all about it, I left that part out! MWAH! - K
As you have no doubt figured out from my e-mail to him, I remembered after my post that the name of the massage therapist was Mignon. His reply:
See, I said "Like the filet?". Cool is all in the details.
Bwaaa haaa haa! He cracks me up, that guy. It's almost Valentines Day, so it seems fitting to post about my sweetheart.
We met in college, where we were both studying civil engineering and graduated the same year. I like to joke that at an expensive private college filled with silver spoons, I met and married the only guy who was poorer than I was. Which is why it really isn't surprising that the way I finally caught his attention (he had a crush on another girl up until then) was over a quarter. Twenty-five measly cents. What a bargain!
A few of us from our engineering class were having a beer at one of our favorite haunts when John's roommate, Derek, accidentally dropped a quarter under our table. He and John then spent about ten minutes hunting for it on the floor of the dimly-lit and sticky-floored bar. It was rather comical to watch them hunched down under the table, intently searching for what amounted to one sixth of a beer or one half of a game of pool. (Precious luxuries for starving college students) Finally Derek popped up triumphantly holding the quarter. "May I see that?" I asked. He gave it to me. I promptly dropped it on the floor again.
Now Derek was pretty irate with me, but John burst out laughing and said "That was good!" He looked at me like he was noticing me for the first time. It was the best quarter I ever spent! (Because I seem to remember having to give whiny Derek a quarter after that!)
John and I dated for four years and he proposed to me at Gabrielle, a romantic French restaurant in mid-city New Orleans. That section of the city was hard-hit by Katrina, by the way, so we're not sure of the restaurant's fate. Upon seeing the beautiful ring and hearing those magical words, "Will you marry me?" my romantic response was . . .
"I think I'm going to puke."
Yep. That's what I said. Ah love. In my defense, this all came as a complete surprise and he popped the question after a several-course meal, dessert and a glass of wine! My body didn't have room for a full course of happiness on top of all that food. Naturally I said "Yes, yes, a thousand times yes!" or something like that after the queasiness went away, but we'll always have that first response to laugh about.
Ten years, two kids, two states, five homes, five jobs and two vans later, he's still making me laugh.
Case in point - last night we were having casual dinner. The kids were sitting at the kitchen bar eating while John and I chatted in the kitchen while our food was warming. I went to see Brokeback Mountain with Evelyn yesterday. It was a great movie - I recommend it. I had a few questions, though, about, uh, things, so I was asking John what he knew. We were speaking in low tones, and the kids had their own conversation going, but when John used a term that I was unfamiliar with, I called out "Gross!" in a loud voice that attracted the attention of the kids.
"What's gross?" asked Karl.
I was caught off-guard and stammered out the first fib that came to mind:
"I, uh, had some snot on my face."
Now Karl was completely satisfied by this explanation. If you've ever had snot on your face, that qualifies as gross. It really was pretty brilliant, when you think of it.
I got no love from John, though. He just laughed and said, very sarcastically; "Nice." And then, in a mock-Karen voice; "I just pooped my pants!"
Um. NOT the same thing, AT ALL! Sheesh.
AGAIN with the poop humor! Isn't that the lowest form of humor? Oh wait, no - I think sarcasm is. What about sarcastic poop humor? Now that's low. The lowest. In the basement, I'd say. And yet . . .
I laughed when he said it.
I laughed a lot. *sigh*
I think we were MFEO.
Happy Valentines Day (a couple of days early)!
TPBQOTD (This is true love. You think this happens every day?)