Wednesday, April 6, 2011

Not Quite a Poet


Him: *Playing the new Nascar game*
Me: You didn't like Nascar when I met you.  You're not the man I married.  Do you even 
       recognize yourelf in the mirror anymore?
Him: I'm like a butterfly.  Before, I was a caterpillar, and I didn't know any better.  Now I've 
       morphed into a beautiful butterfly.
Me: (Nascar fans are like butterflies?)

Me: *Eating breakfast*
Him: Hey.
Me: Hey, good morning!
Him: You too.  Hey, do you know where I can find a way to watch an execution?

Me: *Picking Handsome up from work*  Good morning!
Him: You know, I used to think you were really wimpy, but this kid got a scrape and called for 
       the ambulance the other day.  You're not as wimpy as him.
Me:  Thank you?


I recently had to physically put my hand over Handsome's mouth, stop him from replying from something I said, and caution him with this:
"If you feel the need, at any time in the future, to respond with some statement with a remark involving Hitler, China's one-child program, or genocide in general, please, please filter yourself."
Sometimes its just enough to get through the day.

Reveling in my very special husband,

1 comment:

  1. I would be disappointed if you didn't have to clamp your hand over his mouth on a regular basis. He would probably be on his way out, if that happened.


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