On most days there is no telling what my husband and I will talk about and where those conversations will end up. Today has been no different except it seems like several of our conversations have made me more aware of how my husband really feels about me. It's not like I wasn't somewhat aware already, but now I have 100% proof from his own mouth.
Conversation number one took place while grocery shopping this morning. While at the check out, the Murph said something rather negative about the Lucky Charms cereal I had put in the cart as the cashier was scanning it. I don't remember exactly what he said, but I immediately stated that the cereal was "for the kids" to try to cover up the fact that it was for me. Of course the Murph laughed and informed the cashier that the Lucky Charms were for me, we don't have kids at home and not only were the Lucky Charms for me, but the animal crackers inside the teddy bear container were for me too. "I'm dating a kindergartner," he said and laughed. At which point I reminded him that he wasn't "dating" a kindergartner, but he was actually "married" to one. Remember all those checks he had to write a couple of months ago? Remember that huge dress box that's still on the dining room table? Oh yeah, that!
Then in a feeble attempt to show that I wasn't totally a kindergartner, I then pointed out that the bottle of wine was mine. The Murph had his meat and beer. I had my Lucky Charms, animal crackers and wine. We had the cashier in tears by the time we left. This was the first time we didn't run her off. Usually they try to close the line and head out when they see us coming.
Number 1 thing my husband thinks of me - I'm a kindergartner.
Conversation number 2 happened right after we left the grocery store and followed along the same kindergarten theme.
The Murph: Do you smell that onion smell? I think it's those Leeks we bought.
Me: No, I can't smell anything. My nose doesn't work very good ever since I got that nose job.
The Murph: And for what? You can't even tell a difference. Your nose looks the same.
Me: How do you know? You never saw it before I had it done and yes there is a difference. It doesn't turn up anymore. It's straight.
The Murph: I saw pictures and you can't tell the difference, ski slope.
Me: Hey, that's what they called me in first grade. I was traumatized!! Ever since first grade I had vowed to get my nose done. It got even worse in fourth grade. The boy's called me "slope slut".
The Murph: Ummm, is there something you want to tell me about?
Me: No, I was a virgin in fourth grade!
The Murph: Well I should hope so in fourth grade!
Me: Are you kidding? I was still playing with barbie dolls when I was 12. I was very immature. Very!
The Murph: And you still are! You haven't changed one bit!
Number 2 thing my husband thinks about me - I'm immature (and I was still a virgin in fourth grade.)
Conversation number 3 happened this afternoon. As the Murph was scanning television channels looking for a hockey game, he came across a movie and in the description it said something about a feral girl.
The Murph: Feral girl? What does that mean? I thought only cats could be considered feral.
Me: It means a wild and uncivilized girl.
The Murph: That's YOU!! You are a FERAL girl!
Number 3 thing my husband thinks about me - I'm feral.
Those are only a handful of the weird conversations we had today. I won't even go into the one about the chick fil a cow that was waving to everybody as they drove past. I happen to be anti- chick fil a now (you can read more about that here) and the Murph knows this so he loves pushing my buttons. All in all it's good to know what my husband really, truly, most certainly thinks of me from his own mouth. It can (and probably will) be used against him at some point.
In his own words I am an immature, feral kindergartner, but my nose is straight and looks really cute even though it doesn't work right anymore.
As I was writing this post I had this uncanny feeling of being watched. Stared down by two very hungry pissed off cats who couldn't believe I had the nerve to do a blog post right in the middle of their dinner time. The demon on the right even took it upon himself to get my attention by nipping at my foot. I'm pretty sure I know what they think about me.
I'm the pushover who lets them get away with murder and knows how to open the food cans!
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| Why? Because it's magically delicious! |
Then in a feeble attempt to show that I wasn't totally a kindergartner, I then pointed out that the bottle of wine was mine. The Murph had his meat and beer. I had my Lucky Charms, animal crackers and wine. We had the cashier in tears by the time we left. This was the first time we didn't run her off. Usually they try to close the line and head out when they see us coming.
Number 1 thing my husband thinks of me - I'm a kindergartner.
Conversation number 2 happened right after we left the grocery store and followed along the same kindergarten theme.
The Murph: Do you smell that onion smell? I think it's those Leeks we bought.
Me: No, I can't smell anything. My nose doesn't work very good ever since I got that nose job.
The Murph: And for what? You can't even tell a difference. Your nose looks the same.
Me: How do you know? You never saw it before I had it done and yes there is a difference. It doesn't turn up anymore. It's straight.
The Murph: I saw pictures and you can't tell the difference, ski slope.
Me: Hey, that's what they called me in first grade. I was traumatized!! Ever since first grade I had vowed to get my nose done. It got even worse in fourth grade. The boy's called me "slope slut".
The Murph: Ummm, is there something you want to tell me about?
Me: No, I was a virgin in fourth grade!
The Murph: Well I should hope so in fourth grade!
Me: Are you kidding? I was still playing with barbie dolls when I was 12. I was very immature. Very!
The Murph: And you still are! You haven't changed one bit!
Number 2 thing my husband thinks about me - I'm immature (and I was still a virgin in fourth grade.)
Conversation number 3 happened this afternoon. As the Murph was scanning television channels looking for a hockey game, he came across a movie and in the description it said something about a feral girl.
The Murph: Feral girl? What does that mean? I thought only cats could be considered feral.
Me: It means a wild and uncivilized girl.
The Murph: That's YOU!! You are a FERAL girl!
Number 3 thing my husband thinks about me - I'm feral.
Those are only a handful of the weird conversations we had today. I won't even go into the one about the chick fil a cow that was waving to everybody as they drove past. I happen to be anti- chick fil a now (you can read more about that here) and the Murph knows this so he loves pushing my buttons. All in all it's good to know what my husband really, truly, most certainly thinks of me from his own mouth. It can (and probably will) be used against him at some point.
In his own words I am an immature, feral kindergartner, but my nose is straight and looks really cute even though it doesn't work right anymore.
As I was writing this post I had this uncanny feeling of being watched. Stared down by two very hungry pissed off cats who couldn't believe I had the nerve to do a blog post right in the middle of their dinner time. The demon on the right even took it upon himself to get my attention by nipping at my foot. I'm pretty sure I know what they think about me.
I'm the pushover who lets them get away with murder and knows how to open the food cans!
You know what??? I STILL eat Captain Crunch and there is totally a difference between the cheap knock off brand and the real deal. Total difference. Now who's the six year old???
ReplyDeleteI use to love Captain Crunch! I especially liked Crunchberries.
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