True Conversation
I'm sitting down on the couch during my lunch break. I've just had two fillings done this morning, and as a result I still can't feel one side of my face. I check my uniform for stray droplets of melted cheese.
"You know," I say to my wife, "eating Hot Pockets with half your mouth is kind of like--"
"Eating spaghetti with Down syndrome?"
"Uh. yeah." I snicker, though I feel bad for doing so. "What do you mean?"
"Well," she says, "no matter what happens, you still end up with shit on your shirt and looking like a dishface."
Three minutes subside, during which I descend into a fit of hysterical giggling. Wiping my eyes, I look up at last, and stare dumbfounded at my spouse.
"What," she says. "It's true."
"I know," I respond, "which is why this exchange is going into my journal."
"God. Please don't."
"Perfect title too: 'True Conversation.' Why not?"
"Because then all those nice ladies who love your blog so much are going to think I'm some kind of heinous cunt, and start circling like vultures."
"No they won't."
"Ohhh, YES they will. Just watch. They're going to be convinced you're in dire need of rescue."
"I thought it was funny."
"Yes, but they don't know that."
We're both going to hell.
"You know," I say to my wife, "eating Hot Pockets with half your mouth is kind of like--"
"Eating spaghetti with Down syndrome?"
"Uh. yeah." I snicker, though I feel bad for doing so. "What do you mean?"
"Well," she says, "no matter what happens, you still end up with shit on your shirt and looking like a dishface."
Three minutes subside, during which I descend into a fit of hysterical giggling. Wiping my eyes, I look up at last, and stare dumbfounded at my spouse.
"What," she says. "It's true."
"I know," I respond, "which is why this exchange is going into my journal."
"God. Please don't."
"Perfect title too: 'True Conversation.' Why not?"
"Because then all those nice ladies who love your blog so much are going to think I'm some kind of heinous cunt, and start circling like vultures."
"No they won't."
"Ohhh, YES they will. Just watch. They're going to be convinced you're in dire need of rescue."
"I thought it was funny."
"Yes, but they don't know that."
We're both going to hell.
posted by Milo at 2:16 PM
6 Comments:
I'm going to hell for laughing.
With gasoline underwears. hahahah
LOL
(and hells no, you are not in need of rescue. Anne maybe... but not you. ;) Kidding, of course.)
I found it a perfectly funny joke.
I laughed, and even though I may be going to hell in a hand basket I seriously doubt either of you too are.
Dude, your wife's funny.
Post a Comment
<< Home