John Watson – Undead Together (mp3)

The picture arrived this weekend. It’s gorgeous. Every year for Christmas I give my husband a black and white photograph of the place where we spent our anniversary that year. This year we spent our 5th anniversary actually in Dana Point, but spent one day in Huntington Beach—walked on the pier, had lunch, etc.

I thought that was a nice tradition.

Me: Did you get my cereal?
Wife: There is no such thing as “Barb’s Wheat Squares.”
Me: Hm. Wait, here they are.
Wife: Those? Are those wheat?
Me: Uh, multigrain?
Wife: Are they squares?
Me: Technically, they’re hexagons.
Wife: Are they called Barb’s Wheat Squares?
Me: Um, no. They’re called Barbara’s Shredded Spoonfuls.
Wife: Uh huh.
Me: Right. Well, I’ll just…
Wife: Put those back. I knew what you meant.

Lovely and Talented Wife: Urrrngh! Blaaaggh!
Me: My hands are cold.
Wife: You’re freezing!
Me: It’s like ripping off a band aid. You’ll get used to it in a second.
Wife: You’re freezing! And you’re an ass!

Wife: So far, I washed the car, ran errands, and picked up The Boy. What did you do today?
Me: Not much. You did a lot this morning, though.
Wife: Oh, you do way more than me.
Me: Pfft! I don’t do anything. You’re the one with three jobs.
Wife: But what you do brings in all the cash. You make most of the money and I spend most of it.
Me: That just makes us a good team. You complete me.

It was comforting. Like I’m doing something right. Like the sound of fresh-baked bread crackling on the counter as it cools. Like the smell of shaving lotion and the satisfied feel of a good shave. Like the fit of your wife’s hand in your hand. All of that times infinity.

Me: So, do you like the new Doctor better than the old one?
Lovely and Talented Wife: Well…
Me: I know, it’s tough, huh? I think they’re both really good Doctors.
Wife: They’re both excellent actors.
Me: But the current Doctor. I can tell he’s grown on you.
Wife, nodding: Yah. He made a little TARDIS in my heart.
Me: I love you so much.

The Christmas episode (season premiere) aired last night in the U.S. Another great beginning. Dr. Who is superb, intelligent, fun television.

Lovely and Talented Wife: So I texted that thing to her and she texted back “LMAO.”
Me: She didn’t though.
Wife: LMAO?
Me: Yah, her ass is still on.
Wife: What…?
Me: People read something funny and then maybe they snort or chuckle or even chortle and then write LOL or LMAO. They rarely mean it. It’s sad really because it’s devalued the whole meaning of the word. That’s why I refuse to type it. Even if I was LOL I wouldn’t write LOL because no one would really believe I was LOL. LOL isn’t what it used to be.
Wife: Oh my God.
Me: What?
Wife: You’re still talking.

Wife So how’s the car?
Me: Great! All fixed! See? I scraped my finger. Say, do we have any crazy glue?
Wife: I don’t think so. Why?
Me: Hm. I’d settle for slightly-off-its-rocker glue. Plain ol’ bad-ass glue would work.
Wife: Why do you need glue?
Me: Ah. Well… while I was putting the car back together I may have broken a very small, insignificant, completely inconsequential and absolutely non-essential piece of plastic. No worries, though.
Wife: ?
Me: Trust me.
Wife: I’m never driving that car again.

In the past week I’ve repaired our automatic ice maker (yay, ice!), hung chalkboards outside the kids’ rooms, replaced our crappy kitchen faucet with a swank high-profile faucet, and capped it off today by replacing a broken bushing on our spare car’s manual shifter.

A very fine job, too, I might add. A repair I stand behind 100 percent, glue or no glue.

“Could you please get the mayo?” I asked. She looked at me, raised a lovely and talented eyebrow thinking she’d misheard something. “Did I?”

“No. Could you, please?” I replied. And then she turned and walked briskly and immediately out of the kitchen. I stared at the space she had been standing in, butter knife and bread in hand, mayoless. I peeked around the corner in time to see her close the front door behind her. “Sheesh! Nevermind, I’ll get it,” I called after her, annoyed.

I got the mayo and tried to revive my sandwich-making zen.

She came back a few minutes later. “Here.” She tossed a bundle of papers and envelopes onto the counter and huffed. “I don’t get why you wanted the mail so badly. What’s the rush?”

Understanding and then a wry smile spread across my face. I held up the open mayonnaise jar. “Could you please get the mayo?” I repeated, enunciating clearly this time.

And then we laughed and laughed.