It should be noted, that Skippy is not feeling well today. This is important to remember in what follows.
I was just discussing with him that I have decided to announce that I’m writing a book, and I’m going to hold a contest for the title. When I told him what the prize would be, his response was confusing.
Skippy: “Wait. WHAT?? Wait, what are you doing???”
Me: “I’m going to announce that I’m writing a book. I’m going to hold a contest to give it a title. The winner gets a year of free web hosting.”
Skippy: “Oh. I thought you said a year’s supply of Fritos. I was trying to figure out just how you thought you were going to do that.”
I have no idea how his brain replaced “web hosting” with “Fritos”. Also, it should say something about our relationship (and/or me) that he took “Fritos” at face value. I’m not sure what it says, but it says something.
I’ve just discovered that my husband has a hidden stash of candy.
For those days when he feels he needs to fling a bag at me and run for his life.
Skippy and I discovered our toddler daughter gets angry when Ariel in The Little Mermaid turns human. She doesn’t like that part, and prefers we rewind the movie and just see the “big mermaid” part.
We were discussing possible concepts a person can take away from that movie.
Skippy says, “Personally, I came away with: French people torturing fish is comedy gold”.
Before you read further, especially if you are easily offended, remember: this site is our real life and nothing is off-limits. We are not always politically correct.
Today, I received an official diagnosis of Asperger’s.
Skippy: “Does this mean I can’t do the Rain Man impersonation during sex?”
Me: “Not if you want to keep having sex.”
So, Skippy has an ear infection and a ruptured ear drum. This means his ear periodically, um, leaks.
I’m not squeamish. Never have been, and definitely not after having kids.
But the ear goo…ew.
So we’re in the car and he says, “Crap get me a tissue!”.
I hand him one dangling from my fingers, exclaiming, “Don’t touch my hand with your ooze!”.
He says: “You mean you don’t want my brain juice?”
Me: “No. It’s…pus…bleah.”
Skippy: “It’s my brain drooling for you!”
Skippy: “It’s my brain going BWLALAALALALLALALALALAL for you!” (Waggling his tongue at me, mouth wide open: the tongue waggle that only middle-aged men think is sexy.)
Me: “Not sexy.”
“Pick whatever you want to watch, my hands are full of monkey butt.”
(Says Skippy while sewing a torn, stuffed monkey for our 3 year old daughter.)
Yes, I realize that Goldfish crackers are Ghetto Cheetos.
Insult not valid in Alabama or Tennessee.
Friend: I have a question to ask you: can you be serious?
Skippy: Ask me your question.
Friend: No that is the question, can you be serious?
Friend: Can I put you down as a personal reference?
Friend: Thank you. ::Writes his name and phone number on the application IN INK.::
Skippy: Now of course I didn’t say I WOULD be serious when they CALLED me for the reference.
Friend: … You are a terrible person.
Well, I just got checked into the hotel. And I see you’ve started a new religion.