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
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