It’s late at night and we’re snuggling in bed.
Me: I love you. I’m so glad you’re my best friend.
Mr. J: You’re my best friend too. You and Tiny Rick. Except for when Rick sneezes in my whiskey. Which happens more than it should.
(Explanation: Tiny Rick has feline immunodeficiency virus so he coughs and sneezes a lot. In spite of this he’s an amazingly friendly and loving cat. But he also loves torturing Mr. J by sneezing in his alcohol.)
For some reason we were talking about directions first thing in the morning, literal directions and written instructions.
Me: wow thanks for making sure the left and right side of my brain are working.
Mr. J.: Yes because that’s how you know to take a left instead of two rights.
Me: Two rights EQUAL a left so fuck off!
Mr. J.: No they don’t…(dramatic pause)…It’s three rights make a left.
Me: fuck off
Mr. J: wow you really learned a lot from those gen ed classes in college
Me: If I were a god or goddess who would I be?
Mr. J: (silence)
Me: Take your time.
Mr. J: Ok you know when Hercules fights all the centaurs because he opens a bottle of wine too early or whatever? The wine could only be opened at such and such time on such and such day? Something like that. Because the wine belonged to all the centaurs and it was special wine.
Mr. J: You’re whoever gave Hercules’s friend that wine.
Me: I’m Bacchus? Why? Because I used to drink a lot? I barely drink anymore!
Mr. J: No. Because you’re neurotic as fuck and need things to happen in specific ways at specific times otherwise everything goes horribly wrong.
Note: I think Mr. J made up the part about the wine being reserved for a specific time and place and I’m not sure if Bacchus gave the wine to the centaurs or if they just got it from the local ABC store but it’s still funny.
Me: I’ve been thinking, instead of telling me “you’re doing fine,” whenever I feel like shit could you just say “you’re okay” instead? I think that will help with my neuroses.
Mr. J.: Doesn’t that mean the same thing?
Me: Yes, but it’s different verbiage. Try it.
Mr. J.: (disturbed by the verbiage/sarcastic) I don’t want to.
My husband is super supportive when it comes to dealing with my anxiety. But most of the time everything he says, when I’m in the middle of an anxiety fit, pisses me off. Whenever he says “you’re doing alright” or “you’re doing a good job” I don’t believe him. So I asked him to start telling me I’m just okay because 1) it’s true, I am physically okay and 2) it does in fact mean the same thing. But I can hear it better.
Me: This time don’t throw away your baking stuff because you’re inevitably going to need it and end up buying the same stuff again.
Mr. J: I got stuff that actually works this time Jess.
Me: What’s this for?
Mr. J: It’s a blender wand, I’m definitely keeping that because it works with my shakes.
Mr. J: Jess, put the blender down. You might cut yourself.
Me: But the blade isn’t attached. It’s all the way over there.
Mr. J: Put the blender down Jess.
Me: How am I going to cut myself when the blade’s not attached.
Mr. J: Put it down Jess.