I Feel Bad For My Wife
I feel really bad for my wife. I'm not going to give you a bunch of BS reasons like "life isn't fair" or "her job isn't fulfilling enough".
I feel bad for my wife because she has to be married to me.
So before I went to the grocery store, I asked The Missus if there was anything she would like. She told me she dug pudding. Upon further prodding, she told me that she really dug butterscotch.
I'm grocery shopping. I'm in the pudding aisle. I'm looking at my list. I see the kind she asked for. I'm looking over the shelves. I grab a package. I go home.
Now I hand her this package of like eight containers of pudding. I'm all proud of myself...like a kid who gathers up a bunch of mud in an upside-down frisbee and presents it to his mom as a pie.
And just like a patient loving mother would respond to that idiot child with the half eaten mud-pie, The Missus smiled and told me how happy she was and ate one of the containers of pudding.
About two days later she admitted that I got the wrong pudding.
The Demon Gas
We were laying with the dogs on the couch and Murphy just let loose with a fart. Nay, fart is too small a word to describe the heinous odor eminating from his posterior. This poor boy was conjuring up some demons from the very depths of Hades. My head happened to be closer to him than The Missus'* was.
That smell messed me up. Bad. My eyes teared up. I did your basic "Oh, Mother******! What the...?"
"What?" The Missus asked.
"Murphy just let fly with the nastiest fart I have ever had the misfortune of smelling" (which is way more verbose than I actually was at the time. I probably mumbled something about "fart...breathe....near death")
At this point, some level of my brain decided to make a joke...but said brain was hazed over with demon fart. What I said was "Jesus...it was so bad....I think I saw the future."
Now, I'll admit. I don't know what the hell that even means. I don't now, I didn't then. I even finished the statement with "Wait...I don't even know what that means." Which of course struck me as utterly hilarious. I laughed for about twenty minutes. Why? I really can't tell you. Maybe it was the toxic effect of the demon gas permeating my pre-frontal lobe.
Two hours later, The Missus and I are snuggled up and suddenly that pops back into my mind. What began as a small giggle culminated in my going off on a laughing jag for what was easily a half an hour.
The Missus, bless her, just held me and gave me this faraway look of infinite sadness...which I immediately recognized as the terror of the dawning realization that she married a man who has very special needs.
At that exact moment, my wife finally realized that she had married an idiot.
The Crime Spree
There was that time when I went on a fourteen state crime spree because I was pissed at her for washing the whites with the colors.
OK. I made that one up.
Seriously, though. I feel bad for my wife.
1998 SE Midnight Blue Pearl
Gutted airbox, FRAM AirHog, removed MAF Screen, eBay clear corners, extended brake lights
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