Boyfriend found his way back to the homestead. I figured in all that time apart his old-man brain would have become a bit fuzzy and forgetful. The next time I have this window of opportunity I should perhaps just leave town myself, pack up Fat and Mutt and just run like hell. Somewhere he would never think to find us, where would that be? Greenland. Definitely Greenland. France is far too obvious and if I have to explain why, you just don't get me at all. I do like croissants...but that's beside the point.
Before he departed, our eyes met and I reached for his hand. I grabbed it and in a quick movement twisted it behind his back and made my firm demand, Bring me back some saltwater taffy. What I meant was, Bring me back some saltwater taffy or the She Hulk will greet you upon your return with a chef knife and jar of pickle juice to splash into the resulting wounds. At this point, Boyfriend was sobbing, saying, Anything you want, just please let me go. Well, not sobbing. Laughing because Mutt was licking his feet, but I'm sure he was still intimidated by my kung fu grip. He knew what I meant with my demand. It's called good communication, gladiator style.
What is not good communication was what happened next. I bent his arm some more and said, I want another present too. What I meant was, Get me another surprise present that isn't stupid. For those of you that are reading along, the literary device used in the previous sentence is what is known as foreshadowing. Let's read along to see what happens.
When he came through the door after a week and a half out at sea, or mining, or whatever he was doing, he thrust a bag of saltwater taffy into my hands. Love that stuff, junkies can keep their crack, all I need in this life is saltwater taffy. Really, why aren't I fat? I Must be coming back in my next life as a whale or sumo wrestler. Meh. Worth it. Two points to Boyfriend for coming through with my sugary addiction. Minus a point and a half for bringing home bad flavours. Fruity, Boyfriend, I like fruity, next time pick flavours that would compare with a pride parade. That's a compliment by the way. Also, LOVED the pride parade. We should have them every day. How fantastic would life be if every day was the gay pride parade? Best life ever and enough glitter for everyone! I'm going to need to set up a meeting with the mayor, I'm sure he's got some pull and can make that happen, yes?
Where was I? Ah, Boyfriend's mystery gift. Brace yourselves, folks, it doesn't get much worse. I should have known to run when Boyfriend chuckled as he pulled my surprise present from his suitcase. My instincts are always right, always run when you feel you should, I'm coming Greenland! No, set fire to the apartment and then run because whatever he bought is going to ruin my life and home anyways. Boyfriend pulled out this plastic-coated card stock from his luggage and flicked it onto the bed so I could read it. New Rule: A present that makes Boyfriend giggle is NOT considered an official gift for me. That's the first clue to realizing whatever it is will cause emotional outrage. I must remember to always keep a lighter on or near my person so when the instinct hits I can flick the Bic and take off.
The card has, I need to pause to calm down for a moment as the She Hulk stirs at the thought of it, a mass produced painted picture of a giraffe necked chihuahua that takes over most of the card stock - could it be any more awesome? Yes (If you don't pick up on the sarcasm here you are banned from the blog, banned!), hold your breath and wait for it kids, the caption on the picture reads: BEWARE GUARD CHIHUAHUA ON DUTY. Oh, apologies, that's a misquote; there's an exclamation point after beware. Wow, best gift ever. It would be improved ten-fold if the little rat-dog in the picture sang like those plastic-mounted fish. Boyfriend really gets me. Surprisingly I fought the strong urge to rip this monstrosity into forty-two hundred pieces and believe it or not my angry hands didn't wrap around Boyfriend's throat either. Woop woop for restraint. I must confess, it's only restraint because I thought the whole thing was a joke. My real gift was still in the suitcase, because he's smart enough to get me something that doesn't entirely suck. Eyes of prey watch as Boyfriend unpacked every last thing in his suitcase and put it back to its appropriate spot in the apartment. He's one of those weirdos that doesn't throw his bag on the floor upon arriving home and two weeks later finally remembers that the skirt he's been looking for the last few days is still packed in that bag with several other things that need to be reintroduced to a laundry machine. This is an official triple B situation kids: Bad Boyfriend Behaviour. The bad gift thing, not the missing skirt thing. The missing skirt thing wasn't a real thing. It's sad that I have to explain that to you.
That reminds me of the time I tried to correct Boyfriend's behaviour by attaching electrodes to his temples and wiring him to a sparking electrical outlet. Oh no, wait. That hasn't happened yet. That's what my therapist suggests in order to ease the tension in our relationship. She says that this will open the floodgates of communication. Well, maybe not the electrode thing specifically, but I knew what she was saying, I can read between the lines. My cat is so smart and I only have to pay for her time with tuna. Who says you can't buy good therapy with canned fish?
If you will indulge in a moment of honesty, not fake honesty like I usually insert into the blog, Boyfriend and I are terrible communicators. We're still learning how to share our feelings with each other. Apparently, I feel that sometimes you should shut up and I feel like unless you want to watch football you should leave, are not legitimate feelings. Sometimes I feel like I underpay with that tuna. She says we're a work in progress. I say my therapist is morbidly obese. Sorry, I feel that she's morbidly obese, especially when I pick her up and I feel the squishiness of her rolls. You're fat, bitch. Sorry, that was the She Hulk.
When it comes to communication, I'm not the only one guilty of omitting exactly what I mean to say. For instance, when Boyfriend says, Is that right, eh? during a conversation what he means is, Whatever information you are telling me right now I'm going to tell everyone I know and quote it as fact. Usually that one has to do with stories about people in the sporting world, ways to repair boats, statistics on diseases that befall house pets that will inevitably kill the owners, stuff like that. I also know that when he says, That's weird, he means, I don't understand what you're saying but it offends me, and we'll be going another few rounds in our never-ending fight.
So when I say, I don't want to marry you or have your babies, clearly that's not what I mean. Lord knows we're not upfront with what we mean. Obviously I mean, I'm happy with where we're at right now. I'm not sure how he got all, That's weird, about it. The gloves come up, and long story short, we both end up crying in the corner licking our wounds. What? Our therapist is a cat, we're bound to start grooming ourselves like that. Boyfriend says he heard that from a very reliable source.
It pains me to say that we ended up having a conversation. One of those real ones full of whining and statements like, "We have a problem, we need to fix it, let's work as a team and find a solution, wah wah wah..." Not that there's anything wrong with that. It's just not our flavour. Feelings, bleh. The conversation did make me think of why I said that I didn't want to wed or procreate with Boyfriend right now. Genuine honesty coming out again, please don't vomit: I don't actually know what I want right now. I'm cool right where we're at. I'm sure somewhere down the line I'll get some sort of inclination one way or the other but right now, ah light bulb...I meant to add right now to the end of the statement I don't want to marry you or have your babies. My bad. Alrighty, That's weird was definitely warranted.
Another part of why I said what I said is that I don't want a BAM engagement ring that has a damn chihuahua photo etched into the diamond and and engraving inside the ring that says, "I like stupid things."
As for babies, do I really want a kid that has the same sense of humour as Boyfriend? OF COURSE NOT. NOT NOW, NOT EVER! Oh geez, I couldn't even begin to imagine a miniature version of Boyfriend. He'd be all full of words that aren't real and into sports and boats, has a keen old man interest in the weather and would prefer I read updates on political campaigns instead of Dr. Seuss at bedtime. The last part is the biggest crime of all. A world without the Lorax or lines like "I'll hunt in the mountains of Zomba-ma-Tant | with helpers who all wear their eyes on a slant" is not a world that I want to live in. Seriously, take a read of If I Ran the Zoo. Man, I need a kid to read to.
As with every story there must be a silver lining. Here's this one: The end result of our discussion about "feelings" and "time together" is that we're actually going to work on spending time together. This is especially happy news for you. More time with Boyfriend means more adventures for the blogs. Happy day. Boyfriend and I survived a conversation about how we need to say what we actually mean and we both came out of the arena alive. Eat your heart out Spartacus.
Time for tea,
K
Sunday, August 26, 2012
Sunday, August 12, 2012
Breaking News: BOYFRIEND IS GONE
Time to go track down your bookies, folks, who had the second week of August? It finally happened: Boyfriend left me. For a man, well, two men. I came home from work and his golf clubs were gone. He and his fellas made a break for the border while I was making a living. Asses. The nerve of them to go on vacation without me. Super not cool. Don't fret, dear readers. There will be a massive beat down by the She Hulk on his eventual return. Hope he doesn't read this post before he chances coming back, the pulverization of Boyfriend is going to be a surprise welcome home gift.
It's been freaking hot and I'm feeling like a pig at a luau in this apartment. Therefore, Mutt, Fat and I have come up with a brilliant idea to escape the heat. We've put a swimming pool in our pod of an apartment. By swimming pool I mean filled the bathtub with cold water that we sit in whilst wearing swim caps. Mutt has his life jacket on too, it's fluorescent green. It's fine to write the blog here though, lane swimming doesn't start for another half hour so I have time to jot down something for you.
In a very uncharacteristic move, I'm going to dedicate this post to the things about Boyfriend I've been missing this week. Here, for you foolish people that waste your precious time reading my blog, is my list of things that have left a vacancy in my heart for the last few days:
1) The pillow fights
...Not the sexy co-ed variety. Ours is more of a constant battle to claim the one pillow in our apartment that is actually good. I have found that I don't sleep as well if I haven't tuckered myself out with the eventual claim of malicious victory. It brings me great satisfaction to whip that pillow out from under him while he's sleeping. Haven't had a decent night's sleep in almost a week.
2) The compliments
By this I mean both giving and getting compliments. A Sunday morning just isn't the same with the ego boosts. For example:
You look so cute when you're reading the paper.
Why's that? He says, peering over the top of the newspaper.
Your mouth is generally shut.
I think the same thing when I see you reading a book. This is where we smile lovingly at each other and when our eye contact breaks I call him an ass and he calls me a bitch. We're really quite precious.
3) Dinner at 9:00pm
Boyfriend treats me right and cooks a veritable five-star feast for us every night. However, feasts take forever to prepare and Boyfriend has no concept of time. No wonder I have weird dreams every night. Speaking of food, I do have to give Boyfriend appreciation for always making sure that I'm fed. He made sure I had dinners ready for his time away. If all I have to do to make Chicken with mango salsa is throw it in the microwave I am all over it. Good job, Boyfriend, for taking preventative steps to avoid coming home to an emaciated woman.
4) Wine in the evening
I miss those nights where I'm being She Hulky and Boyfriend smiles at me with adoration, excuses himself to go to the kitchen, and returns with a glass of wine that he sets on the table in front of me with a love post-it attached. The notes usually say something sweet like, "Keep it up and I'm throwing you over the balcony". I'm joking, clearly. I assume if it were to come to it, he'd push me over the balcony. You can't throw something you can't lift, and if he keeps feeding me the way that he does, that will never happen. I'll sumo-push him over the balcony first with my huge gut. Sumo She Hulk style, how hot would that be?
5) How he pays attention to the little things
It's no secret that I'm a loser, especially since I did a whole post about it. The number of times I have lost my keys and cell phone this week is just ridiculous. Also, if anybody sees my Frisbee please let me know. It' s regulation size.
6) Somebody to share the triumphs and misfortunes
This week's triumph: I successfully microwaved chicken. I made a freaking dinner for myself! I don't know what all the fuss is about. I whipped up a gourmet meal in less than two minutes. It must just be a natural talent.
This week's misfortune: Our downstairs neighbour who I suspect is a lesbian with a prescription for medicinal marijuana is moving out. She was the best downstairs neighbour ever, and super relaxed about us making noise upstairs, which also fuels my theory. We need a new stoned lesbian to move in. Please fill out an application immediately for a rinky-dink apartment that will boil you alive in the summer. Straight folks need not apply. Too many breeders in this building as is. Not that being a breeder is a bad thing, but for some reason kids think I'm cool and then they cry when I say no and cuss them out. I can't break any more hearts.
7) Mutt and Boyfriend's relationship
Boyfriend's disappearance doesn't just affect me, but Mutt too. He's been a mopey dingus ever since Boyfriend ran away with the circus. Sorry. I mean his boyfriends. Perhaps, though, Mutt is just depressed because I don't put gravy in his food. Out of spite as well as out of caring. The vet says he's getting fat, and no more gravy. I care, so no gravy. Boyfriend says that Mutt's got enough problems that gravy is one of the only good things in his life and he needs it. He even goes so far as to tell me that he's left demi-glaze in the fridge specifically to put on Mutt's food. I don't like people telling me what to do, so I don't do it because I'm spiteful. Also, what's the difference between gravy and demi-glaze? Looks like the same stuff to me.
8) Him doing the dishes
Well, yeah. I hate dishes. He's going to have to come home soon because the filthy plates and cups are piling up. That'll keep him busy for awhile. That, or he'll nag me to do it. Simple solution: Threaten with the She Hulk and dishes will be done in no time.
9) Sharing things
I always wondered why I went through face wash so fast. It turns out Boyfriend was using it too. Only, he was using it wrong. In his head, a bottle in the bathroom that has a dispensing pump means whatever is in said bottle is hand wash. You're buying me a new one, Boyfriend. Learn to read labels.
Most of all, I miss Boyfriend because without him my superiority complex suffers. Oh, and I have feelings and I miss him because of that too...
Ew. Fat starting drinking the water in our swimming pool. Everybody out.
Time for tea,
K
It's been freaking hot and I'm feeling like a pig at a luau in this apartment. Therefore, Mutt, Fat and I have come up with a brilliant idea to escape the heat. We've put a swimming pool in our pod of an apartment. By swimming pool I mean filled the bathtub with cold water that we sit in whilst wearing swim caps. Mutt has his life jacket on too, it's fluorescent green. It's fine to write the blog here though, lane swimming doesn't start for another half hour so I have time to jot down something for you.
In a very uncharacteristic move, I'm going to dedicate this post to the things about Boyfriend I've been missing this week. Here, for you foolish people that waste your precious time reading my blog, is my list of things that have left a vacancy in my heart for the last few days:
1) The pillow fights
...Not the sexy co-ed variety. Ours is more of a constant battle to claim the one pillow in our apartment that is actually good. I have found that I don't sleep as well if I haven't tuckered myself out with the eventual claim of malicious victory. It brings me great satisfaction to whip that pillow out from under him while he's sleeping. Haven't had a decent night's sleep in almost a week.
2) The compliments
By this I mean both giving and getting compliments. A Sunday morning just isn't the same with the ego boosts. For example:
You look so cute when you're reading the paper.
Why's that? He says, peering over the top of the newspaper.
Your mouth is generally shut.
I think the same thing when I see you reading a book. This is where we smile lovingly at each other and when our eye contact breaks I call him an ass and he calls me a bitch. We're really quite precious.
3) Dinner at 9:00pm
Boyfriend treats me right and cooks a veritable five-star feast for us every night. However, feasts take forever to prepare and Boyfriend has no concept of time. No wonder I have weird dreams every night. Speaking of food, I do have to give Boyfriend appreciation for always making sure that I'm fed. He made sure I had dinners ready for his time away. If all I have to do to make Chicken with mango salsa is throw it in the microwave I am all over it. Good job, Boyfriend, for taking preventative steps to avoid coming home to an emaciated woman.
4) Wine in the evening
I miss those nights where I'm being She Hulky and Boyfriend smiles at me with adoration, excuses himself to go to the kitchen, and returns with a glass of wine that he sets on the table in front of me with a love post-it attached. The notes usually say something sweet like, "Keep it up and I'm throwing you over the balcony". I'm joking, clearly. I assume if it were to come to it, he'd push me over the balcony. You can't throw something you can't lift, and if he keeps feeding me the way that he does, that will never happen. I'll sumo-push him over the balcony first with my huge gut. Sumo She Hulk style, how hot would that be?
5) How he pays attention to the little things
It's no secret that I'm a loser, especially since I did a whole post about it. The number of times I have lost my keys and cell phone this week is just ridiculous. Also, if anybody sees my Frisbee please let me know. It' s regulation size.
6) Somebody to share the triumphs and misfortunes
This week's triumph: I successfully microwaved chicken. I made a freaking dinner for myself! I don't know what all the fuss is about. I whipped up a gourmet meal in less than two minutes. It must just be a natural talent.
This week's misfortune: Our downstairs neighbour who I suspect is a lesbian with a prescription for medicinal marijuana is moving out. She was the best downstairs neighbour ever, and super relaxed about us making noise upstairs, which also fuels my theory. We need a new stoned lesbian to move in. Please fill out an application immediately for a rinky-dink apartment that will boil you alive in the summer. Straight folks need not apply. Too many breeders in this building as is. Not that being a breeder is a bad thing, but for some reason kids think I'm cool and then they cry when I say no and cuss them out. I can't break any more hearts.
7) Mutt and Boyfriend's relationship
Boyfriend's disappearance doesn't just affect me, but Mutt too. He's been a mopey dingus ever since Boyfriend ran away with the circus. Sorry. I mean his boyfriends. Perhaps, though, Mutt is just depressed because I don't put gravy in his food. Out of spite as well as out of caring. The vet says he's getting fat, and no more gravy. I care, so no gravy. Boyfriend says that Mutt's got enough problems that gravy is one of the only good things in his life and he needs it. He even goes so far as to tell me that he's left demi-glaze in the fridge specifically to put on Mutt's food. I don't like people telling me what to do, so I don't do it because I'm spiteful. Also, what's the difference between gravy and demi-glaze? Looks like the same stuff to me.
8) Him doing the dishes
Well, yeah. I hate dishes. He's going to have to come home soon because the filthy plates and cups are piling up. That'll keep him busy for awhile. That, or he'll nag me to do it. Simple solution: Threaten with the She Hulk and dishes will be done in no time.
9) Sharing things
I always wondered why I went through face wash so fast. It turns out Boyfriend was using it too. Only, he was using it wrong. In his head, a bottle in the bathroom that has a dispensing pump means whatever is in said bottle is hand wash. You're buying me a new one, Boyfriend. Learn to read labels.
Most of all, I miss Boyfriend because without him my superiority complex suffers. Oh, and I have feelings and I miss him because of that too...
Ew. Fat starting drinking the water in our swimming pool. Everybody out.
Time for tea,
K
Monday, August 6, 2012
The Subtle Art of Buying and Selling
Since I consider myself a good bestie I'm going to force all of you to read a note of congratulations. A hearty, well done you old sods! to Muse and Hubby Cupcake for the first addition to their clan. Since he's my second nephew, the baby's blog title will be Nephtwo. Take note for mention of him in the future and pardon my sounding all too human here, but he's one freaking cute miniature concoction of their DNA. Lucky for Muse, Hubby Cupcake and Nephtwo, Boyfriend doesn't dabble in the Black Market...No Boyfriend, that wasn't an expansion pitch for your make-believe business. Check the power point, productivity rose in the last quarter, you don't want to burn yourself out by growing your empire too quickly.
Boyfriend, and I'm not certain if this is a compliment of his work ethic, is a man that brings his work home with him. Well, sort of. His Monday to Friday job has him buying and selling all sorts of edible dealys, the likes of which I have no idea what they are...seasoning this...minced that...sea plant samosa with a creme de florentine parsnip concoctable tapas. Exactly. That very well could have been something he's said at some point I don't rightly know. Now he doesn't bring his food-associated work home with him so much as the actions of buying and selling. Let me tell you some things.
Boyfriend should rent himself out as a thug problem solver. That should be his outside-of-business business. When he finds out that somebody wants to unload something of theirs Boyfriend will ask everyone in his 1980's rolodex (he's very high-tech) if they or somebody they know needs an old karaoke machine, used tennis racket, leftover dinner from The Keg, what have you. Boyfriend tasks himself to unite buyer with seller. I would like to issue a formal apology to whoever ended up with that partially-eaten prime rib. I wasn't as hungry as I thought I was, and Boyfriend sold off our microwave and stove. I had no way to heat it up.
As recently as last week, Boyfriend found a solution to a problem that arose. I should have known something was up when he met me at the door after work wearing an ill-fitting plaid suit and exuding Red Bull enthusiasm shouting, What can I do to put you in a car today? Looking back I'm not sure why I didn't regard this as strange behaviour. Boyfriend's boyfriend was hoping to sell off his PT Cruiser
...for a very reasonable price...well maintained...pristine some might say...It's the deal of the century.
Uh. No.
Why?
Because no. That's why.
To which his retort is to put more grease in his hair, draw on a pencil-thin moustache and restart. What can I do to put you in a car today?
One of my favourite Boyfriend shyster instances has to be the incident with the beer fridge. For a few years Boyfriend and I had a beer fridge in addition to our regular fridge in our runt-of-the-litter apartment because...well, I hate to say it was necessary because that just sounds bad. Oh wait, I have a reasonable explanation: We had a beer fridge because it was proportionate to the size of our apartment like our real fridge should have been. Made it look more normal. Fast forward to the day the temperature of the beer fridge busts and freezes the beer inside. Cut to Boyfriend sobbing and crying to the heavens as his beer is not readily drinkable, the rain outside was far too appropriate to the moment. Garbage! I shout and insist we immediately find it a graveyard. But no. Boyfriend looks at it and sees opportunity.
It's not a fridge, he insists, It's grown into a freezer.
It's not a freaking caterpillar doing a presto-chango into a butterfly. You're way wrong, fool. That mechanism be broken fo' sho'. Get it out now, we already have a freezer. Beer fridge bye-bye. Maybe I'm crazy, but Boyfriend doesn't seem to hear any of the words I've said protesting it's continued presence in our home. Am I some sort of mute that imagines hearing her own voice? I need to test out this mute theory...
Chaffed monkey danglers.
What?
Nothing.
Old theory shot to hell. New theory: Selective listening. New theory much more likely. Boyfriend gets on the horn instantly, crowing about this deal of the century. Yes, a real horn, like one of the ones they use in the Swiss Alps. I'm not sure why he needed to add lederhosen to the mix, but whatever makes it feel more natural for him. No big surprise, but of those he has called so far, nobody wants a busted-ass beer fridge as a freezer. Nobody especially wants to PAY for such a thing. That's the kind of stupid idea a cartoon baboon comes up with. Eventually Boyfriend gets to the end of his contacts list and of course, none were interested. Boyfriend sits in silence, concentrating ultra-hard, and I actually see the idea come to him. His hunched back straightened, and his furrowed brow rose in the delight one has when they solve a humongous dilemma. Dramatically slow, Boyfriend's head turned in my direction.
No.
You can ask Muse and Hubby Cupcake if they want it.
I already said no, the decline occupied the space before your idea was verbalized.
I had to cause a little brain damage to find that idea and remove it from his head. To those people that laughed when I found those forceps in the hospital, who's the foolish thief now? Boyfriend's idea was pretty gnarly too. I kept it in the jar until it snuffed itself out. Then I poured gasoline in the jar and threw in a lit match for good measure. Can't take too many precautions when it comes to Boyfriend's brilliant ideas.
Speaking of Muse, another time I received a telephone call from Boyfriend, it was business of course. As usual, when I saw it was him calling I second-guessed answering. The number of times it's been a call informing me of a boat for sale that he wants my dad to buy has made me a little gun-shy when it comes to answering his calls. Just before it goes to voicemail I answer.
Hi.
I found somebody to buy Muse's car.
She's not selling her car.
Somebody I know is looking for a car just like hers. You should call her and see if she wants to sell it.
She doesn't.
I swear you told me that she did.
Nope, you're wrong.
I could get her the deal of the century.
It's a leased car.
I'm sure we can work something out.
Bye.
And people wonder why I hesitate when it comes to answering his calls.
Does anybody out there want Boyfriend? I'll give you the deal of the century.
Time for tea,
K
Boyfriend, and I'm not certain if this is a compliment of his work ethic, is a man that brings his work home with him. Well, sort of. His Monday to Friday job has him buying and selling all sorts of edible dealys, the likes of which I have no idea what they are...seasoning this...minced that...sea plant samosa with a creme de florentine parsnip concoctable tapas. Exactly. That very well could have been something he's said at some point I don't rightly know. Now he doesn't bring his food-associated work home with him so much as the actions of buying and selling. Let me tell you some things.
Boyfriend should rent himself out as a thug problem solver. That should be his outside-of-business business. When he finds out that somebody wants to unload something of theirs Boyfriend will ask everyone in his 1980's rolodex (he's very high-tech) if they or somebody they know needs an old karaoke machine, used tennis racket, leftover dinner from The Keg, what have you. Boyfriend tasks himself to unite buyer with seller. I would like to issue a formal apology to whoever ended up with that partially-eaten prime rib. I wasn't as hungry as I thought I was, and Boyfriend sold off our microwave and stove. I had no way to heat it up.
As recently as last week, Boyfriend found a solution to a problem that arose. I should have known something was up when he met me at the door after work wearing an ill-fitting plaid suit and exuding Red Bull enthusiasm shouting, What can I do to put you in a car today? Looking back I'm not sure why I didn't regard this as strange behaviour. Boyfriend's boyfriend was hoping to sell off his PT Cruiser
...for a very reasonable price...well maintained...pristine some might say...It's the deal of the century.
Uh. No.
Why?
Because no. That's why.
To which his retort is to put more grease in his hair, draw on a pencil-thin moustache and restart. What can I do to put you in a car today?
One of my favourite Boyfriend shyster instances has to be the incident with the beer fridge. For a few years Boyfriend and I had a beer fridge in addition to our regular fridge in our runt-of-the-litter apartment because...well, I hate to say it was necessary because that just sounds bad. Oh wait, I have a reasonable explanation: We had a beer fridge because it was proportionate to the size of our apartment like our real fridge should have been. Made it look more normal. Fast forward to the day the temperature of the beer fridge busts and freezes the beer inside. Cut to Boyfriend sobbing and crying to the heavens as his beer is not readily drinkable, the rain outside was far too appropriate to the moment. Garbage! I shout and insist we immediately find it a graveyard. But no. Boyfriend looks at it and sees opportunity.
It's not a fridge, he insists, It's grown into a freezer.
It's not a freaking caterpillar doing a presto-chango into a butterfly. You're way wrong, fool. That mechanism be broken fo' sho'. Get it out now, we already have a freezer. Beer fridge bye-bye. Maybe I'm crazy, but Boyfriend doesn't seem to hear any of the words I've said protesting it's continued presence in our home. Am I some sort of mute that imagines hearing her own voice? I need to test out this mute theory...
Chaffed monkey danglers.
What?
Nothing.
Old theory shot to hell. New theory: Selective listening. New theory much more likely. Boyfriend gets on the horn instantly, crowing about this deal of the century. Yes, a real horn, like one of the ones they use in the Swiss Alps. I'm not sure why he needed to add lederhosen to the mix, but whatever makes it feel more natural for him. No big surprise, but of those he has called so far, nobody wants a busted-ass beer fridge as a freezer. Nobody especially wants to PAY for such a thing. That's the kind of stupid idea a cartoon baboon comes up with. Eventually Boyfriend gets to the end of his contacts list and of course, none were interested. Boyfriend sits in silence, concentrating ultra-hard, and I actually see the idea come to him. His hunched back straightened, and his furrowed brow rose in the delight one has when they solve a humongous dilemma. Dramatically slow, Boyfriend's head turned in my direction.
No.
You can ask Muse and Hubby Cupcake if they want it.
I already said no, the decline occupied the space before your idea was verbalized.
I had to cause a little brain damage to find that idea and remove it from his head. To those people that laughed when I found those forceps in the hospital, who's the foolish thief now? Boyfriend's idea was pretty gnarly too. I kept it in the jar until it snuffed itself out. Then I poured gasoline in the jar and threw in a lit match for good measure. Can't take too many precautions when it comes to Boyfriend's brilliant ideas.
Speaking of Muse, another time I received a telephone call from Boyfriend, it was business of course. As usual, when I saw it was him calling I second-guessed answering. The number of times it's been a call informing me of a boat for sale that he wants my dad to buy has made me a little gun-shy when it comes to answering his calls. Just before it goes to voicemail I answer.
Hi.
I found somebody to buy Muse's car.
She's not selling her car.
Somebody I know is looking for a car just like hers. You should call her and see if she wants to sell it.
She doesn't.
I swear you told me that she did.
Nope, you're wrong.
I could get her the deal of the century.
It's a leased car.
I'm sure we can work something out.
Bye.
And people wonder why I hesitate when it comes to answering his calls.
Does anybody out there want Boyfriend? I'll give you the deal of the century.
Time for tea,
K
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