Me: I just want to lay on my back and have a potato chip fountain drop potato chips into my mouth.
My stepson: I’d be afraid of choking.
Me: This is a fantasy. There’s no choking in fantasies.
My stepson: I’d still be afraid of choking.
Me: I don’t understand how you could be afraid of my perfect potato chip fantasy.
Me: I think I’m going to sneeze.
My Husband: I love sneezing. It’s like the orgasm of the nose.
Me: Are you going to make any resolutions for next year?
My husband: No. I think I did pretty good this year.
I must be hard of hearing. That’s the only excuse for the difficulty I have understanding what people are saying to me in a noisy room. Having a conversation in the midst of the buzz of many other conversations going on all around you is hard of a lot of people, but I think it’s harder for me. It’s probably even more difficult for the person I’m trying to have the conversation with, because it usually goes something …
Other person: Isn’t the weather lovely today?
Me: Pardon me?
Other person: I said, isn’t the weather lovely today?
Me: I’m sorry. I can’t hear you. What did you say?
Other person: The weather, isn’t it nice today?
Me: (I have no idea what was just said to me, but I know it ended with day and was a question. If I ask her to repeat it again she’ll be annoyed, so I’ll just have to guess.) I’m doing well. How have you been?
Maybe the problem isn’t really my hearing. Maybe I’m just a really bad guesser.
I’ve thought about learning to read lips. I’m good at reading. I especially like reading novels and take-out menus. Learning to read lips should be no problem.
My Husband: How do I love thee? Let me count the ways.
My Husband: You don’t know that? It’s a famous poem.
Me: I know, but you said “Let me count the ways.”
My Husband: That’s the way it goes.
Me: No it’s not. It goes “Let me count the waves.”
My Husband: No it doesn’t. That doesn’t mean anything.
Me: It’s a poem. You’re not supposed to understand it. It’s just supposed to sound nice.
My Husband: You’re wrong.
Me: I’m not. It’s “Let me count the waves.”
Later I looked it up and he was right, of course.
I shouldn’t make any excuses for myself, but I’m going to. I originally heard the poem on The Love Boat when I was a child. A man and a woman were standing on deck and the man said, “How do I love thee? Let me count that waves.” Or at least, that’s what I thought he said. It made sense at the time. They were on a boat and there were a lot of waves. That’s a whole lot of love. Right?
I called an ambulance to take me to the emergency room last week. This is the conversation that occurred in the ambulance.
Paramedic: (Filling out my intake form) Your date of birth?
Me: I’m 34.
Paramedic: (Looks up from the form) No you’re not.
Me: Yes, I am.
Paramedic: No, you’re not. I’m 34, and I was born in 1975. You were born in 1974 so that makes you 35.
Me: But my birthday isn’t until May 19th. That hasn’t happened yet so I’m 34.
Paramedic: (Rolls her eyes and writes 35 as my age on the form.)
This conversation occurred while driving in a car at mid-day.
My husband: I’d roll down the window, but the sun is so strong.
Me: That’s because you lost all your pigment living in England.
My husband: I never had any pigment to begin with.
He rolls the window a crack and turns his hat sideways to protect the side of his face.
My husband: The sun’s so strong! Imagine what it must be like in summer.
Me: You lived here for 15 years. You know what it’s like in summer.
Living in England has not only caused my husband to loose any color he had before–which wasn’t much–but has also seemed to wipe out his memory about what it’s like to live in Florida. He keeps forgetting to put on sunscreen, and he has gotten sunburned on his neck repeatedly. I hope this trip doesn’t result in skin cancer.
We had kale greens with our lunch today.
Me: I love greens. They’re my favorite food.
My husband: That’s not true.
Me: Yes it is. I love greens.
My husband: How many times a day do you think about eating greens?
Me: I don’t know. None.
My husband: How many times a day do you think about eating cereal?
Me: Maybe six or seven.
My husband: Looks like cereal is your favorite food.
Me: Silently thinking about eating some cereal.