Jan 24 2011

Vignettes.

Published by at 5:51 pm under Friends,Pets,Snippets,The Fam,The Man

(UPDATED! Originally, this post was one conversation [the hole-punch one] but then I thought of another one and then I decided to just keep adding on as I thought of them. So, this post might be different depending on when you first read it.)

No. 1

The Man is using my one-hole punch to punch holes in the corners of index cards, so that he may put them on a ring. He is Way Too Organized. I’m reading blogs.

The Man: (jiggling the hole-punch) I think I broke this.

Me: What?

The Man: (demonstrating that the hole-punch does not squeeze properly anymore) It’s broken.

Me: You broke my hole-punch!

The Man: Well, I didn’t mean to!

Me: You know what’s funny about this? I use that hole punch to punch holes out of FABRIC, and it works just fine. You use it for its intended purpose, and you break it.

The Man: I use things too aggressively.

My husband, the Aggressive Hole Puncher.

(On a side note, how many other former cheerleaders learned to spell “aggressive” from that one cheer? You know: “Be. Aggressive. B-E aggressive. B-E-A-G-G-R-E-S-S-I-V-E.” I was only a Middle School Cheerleader, but I think it was worth it just to learn how to spell that one word.)

No.2

A bunch of us are sitting around my father-in-law’s house. I’m sitting on the couch with one of my sisters-in-law, and two of her kids are hanging around, too. My two-year-old niece comes in the room and I notice she is wearing fleece pajama pants.

Me: Aw, look at her little Ugly Pants!

Bert (four-year-old nephew): Those are NOT ugly pants!

Me: Oh, well, that’s just what your uncle and I call our pajama pants, whether they are ugly or not. All pajama pants are Ugly Pants.

Bert: Those pants are NOT ugly!

Me: I know that -

Bert: YOUR pants are ugly.

Me: OK, then.

Bert: (going back to his Lincoln Logs and muttering) Ugly…

For the record, I was wearing jeans.

No. 3

We’re talking about the “Dangerous Cold Warning” that my mother-in-law’s area apparently received from the National Weather Service.

The Man: What makes it “dangerous” cold?

Me: I don’t know. I guess it’s really, really cold.

The Man: But, it’s winter.

Me: I know.

The Man: LOOK OUT. IT’S COLD. ALSO, JANUARY.

No. 4

The Man and I stopped in to Julio’s on our way to Grandma’s this past Sunday. I was dropping off a lip balm and a Babies R Us coupon book. Julio has a Chihuahua/demon mix dog that has a really loud yapper, and her brand new baby had just fallen asleep, so she picked up the dog and held it while we talked to minimize the yapping. It’s probably worth noting that Julio has mentioned several times that she’s having a hard time establishing a routine with the baby, and her nerves might be a little frayed.

Me: OK, let me know if you like the lip balm. You’re not allergic to anything are you?

Julio: Like…what?

Me: I don’t know. There are no chemicals or anything in it. It’s all natural stuff. Like beeswax or shea butter or anything.

Julio: Tell you what, if I look like Angelina Jolie in a couple days, we’ll know for sure.

Me: Sounds good. Oh, and that coupon book also has some sale things in the back that I couldn’t really get all the details for, because for some reason they have to seal it up like the damn SAT exam…

Julio: I know! What do they think is going to happen if – (she stops talking and looks at her dog, who she is holding over her shoulder, while patting it on the back). I’M BURPING MY DOG.

Me: Is it working?

Julio: Oh my God, I’m going insane.  The other day I was sitting in a chair, not holding anything, and I realized I was trying to rock the baby to sleep. So, I was just rocking myself back and forth.

Me: Wow.

Julio: Next time I’m grocery shopping I’ll probably try to burp a frozen turkey.

No. 5

The ongoing struggles of living with a brain-damaged cat…Please be aware that the following scene takes place every. single. day. Also, that the whole thing creates in me a slowly growing feeling of suspense that really stresses me out.

I’m sitting on one end of the couch. Fate (the normal cat) is on the other end. Between us is a WIDE OPEN EXPANSE of sofa. Destiny (the brain-damaged cat) likes to nap with Fate during the day because they keep each other warm.

Destiny approaches the couch. She puts her front paws up on the cushions and looks at the empty space.

She doesn’t like what she sees.

She drops back to the floor and does a lap around the coffee table.

She puts her front paws up on the cushions and looks at the empty space.

She doesn’t like what she sees.

She drops back to the floor and does a lap around the coffee table.

Repeat anywhere between 5 and 15 times, depending on how tolerant I’m feeling that day.

As she rounds the coffee table, I bend down and pick her up and put her on the couch.

She freezes, acting like I’ve just placed her into a lake of lava.

She jumps down and does a lap around the coffee table.

She puts her front paws up on the cushions and looks at the empty space.

She doesn’t like what she sees.

She drops back to the floor and does a lap around the coffee table.

Me: ARRRRRRRRGH!

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