A couple months ago, I was walking down the street and happened upon something unexpected on the sidewalk. A dead bat. I named him Mr. Magoo. He was right in the middle of the sidewalk in a position that made him look like he was about to be crucified. Being the kind of person that I am, I loomed over the dead Addam's Family pet and took in the sight. Remembering the little beasty recently, I can't help but feel like that dead bat is the perfect symbol of mine and Boyfriend's relationship.
I'm just going to give you a moment to let that sink in before I explain...
Bats in general are freaky-ass rodents of the night. They're tiny succubus animals that don't see clearly and cause fright which -- on a side note -- is why they are the mascots for Halloween. On a camping trip a long while ago we were by a lake at night. The little flying horrors came out in droves and dive-bombed the area. Strange that all the screaming didn't frighten them away, Boyfriend has quite the set of pipes. What I'm saying is that there's a reason that bats aren't the teacup poodles of the world. Bats get a bad rep. I'm not saying that's without reason.
I jabbed Mr. Magoo with my finger just to make sure he was dead. He wasn't, so I killed him in order to appreciate his dead majesty once again. It's what that filming-pot-selling kid from American Beauty would have done, how is it any different if I do it without a video camera? Now this dead bat has the gnarly quality of the live ones -- you're scared of it and kind of want to make a run for it, but when you realize it's harmless in spite of those fangs and pushed-up nose, you might even consider it cute. Just like me and Boyfriend.
This week I've been uncharacteristically observant. What I've observed is this... Boyfriend should work for the circus as a tightrope walker. I don't say that because he fills out a unitard like no other. Insert unitard joke here -- the material writes itself. What I mean to say is that Boyfriend is quite the whiz when it comes to maintaining relationship balance. He annoys me to the point of searching online for an assassin-for-hire and before I call to get a quote, Boyfriend bounces back with a tremendous act of boyfriendery. That's not a real thing, but work with me people. Boyfriendery it is.
For instance: He made me help with dinner the other night. Faux pas, Boyfriend. While I cut those stupid vegetables it was hard to contain my anger. I blinked once, and when I opened my eyes everything in my vision was filtered through a field of scarlet. Well, more of a blood red colour. Boyfriend popped his head into the kitchen to see how things were going and to remind me to peel the potatoes. The damnedest thing happened. We both heard this weird scuffing sound and arched our necks to peer down where the sound came from. My feet had transformed into hooves, and one repeatedly scraped the ground as though I were preparing to charge. Our eyes met then, and all I could do was shrug. I couldn't control it. I laughed it off, but instead of my typical girlish giggle a hysterical and malevolent baritone came out. Needless to say, I was surprised. The She-Hulk is generally less man-ish. This was a new kind of anger, more...are those horns sprouting out of my head? Oh wait. I forgot I wore my viking helmet that day. I'm trying to bring it back. For some reason that and pillaging villages isn't going over so well. Give it enough time. It'll be trending soon.
The She-Satan stared at Boyfriend, narrowed her eyes and slowly tilted her head to the side. Peel the potatoes? PEEL THE POTATOES? She-Satan grabbed a potato and shoved the whole thing into her mouth. She and Boyfriend didn't break eye contact. Neither blinked, and the She-Satan masticated the spud. After 16 seconds she spat the contents from her mouth onto the counter. The heat from her venom both cooked and mashed the potato in those 16 seconds.
Boyfriend broke their gaze to stare at the steaming mashed potato on the counter. He crossed his arms before he spoke to the She-Satan, That'll be cold before the rest of the dinner is ready.
She-Satan pounded her giant fist into the mashed potato, the anger causing an explosion of the mush throughout the kitchen. She stalked off to go watch Jersey Shore in the bedroom, her hooves clip-clopping as she stomped away to leave Boyfriend alone in the kitchen.
For those of you that are following along, the top part is like a live bat. Scary, unnecessary and misunderstood. I would like to point out that the live bat did not kill anybody. Had it been a baseball bat, it may have killed somebody. Those things are dangerous. The dead bat part of the story comes next:
The next day, Boyfriend brought me home a case of Pink Ting. That's cute in ways that few people understand. I can read that love language like nobody else. He knew he pissed me off to an absurd level the day before, and to regain his footing on the metaphorical tightrope he had to do something nice to make up for it. Pink Ting to the rescue. Boyfriend has almost lost his balance a few times, but he compensates to correct his mistakes. If the time ever comes for him to get off the tightrope, I doubt he'll fall. He'll be pushed.
I told you. We're no teacup poodle. We're a dead bat.
Time for tea,
K
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