Sometimes The Jokes Just Tell Themselves And I Don’t Have To Say A Word

L’s Mother has been in meetings most of this week, so I haven’t seen her very often. At one point early in the week she came out and announced that she had already “wasted” six minutes of her thirty minute break, and I responded with a quick opinion of what she could have been doing with those six minutes. (Make of that what you will and judge me how you like because I don’t care because I didn’t say it to you, and it made L’s Mother laugh as I knew it would.)

Just this morning she came out of her office, announced she had ten minutes, saw that I was standing right there with a “Well?” look on my face, and she promptly collapsed in a fit of giggles on the couch.

I’m Not A Big Drinker, But I Also Hate Wasting A Good Drink

Speaking of anniversaries, today is the anniversary of the day L’s Mother first shared a drink with me . . . because we were in Vegas, the drink in question was a margarita in a glass around three feet tall, and I legitimately feared that I would die if I drank it all myself.

Consider This A Binding Promise

Look, I’m tough to buy for, I know this. So yesterday when L’s Mother announced that my Valentine’s Day gift had arrived and that I should open it now, I felt a certain amount of trepidation.

What it was isn’t important. What is important is that it turned out to be the most thoughtful gift I have ever received . . . because after giving it some thought I will from this point forward forevermore provide L’s Mother with a list of things I would actually consider a good gift for me.

It’s Okay If You Don’t Get It, She Did

“Can you remind me again when you’re planning on taking the Christmas decorations off the holiday tree?” I asked L’s Mother the other day.

“After Candlemas,” she replied.

I just looked at her and sighed, “Now I’m gonna need more rope.”

L’s Mother Loves Chinese Cooking

I was going somewhere with what I said yesterday, but before I get there, I want to clarify that I never really let myself get pushed around just because somebody felt stronger about something than I did, I just ate more Chinese food than I thought I’d ever eat in a lifetime.

I Like That Smile

Early this morning L’s Mother sauntered into my office and with a big grin announced that she had brought me a present, a “morning me” (meaning a morning her).

Snickering (and without thinking) I retorted with, “I don’t know if that makes me easy to buy for, or if it makes you cheap.” I meant as in stingy, of course, but I quickly realized there was another way that could be taken, and L’s Mother realized it as well.

That’s why she flashed me her “Can’t it be both?” smile.

And, Yes, She Laughed Just Like I Knew She Would

The other day I was telling L’s Mother about some standup routine by Greg Davies about how his elderly grandfather in a nursing home stopped mid “I’m decrepit and done” rant to suavely say “Hello there!” to the pretty nurse that had just walked into the room like there was even a chance that this girl had a secret fantasy to bed someone who gets winded while eating soup.

Upon hearing this L’s mother went, “Aw . . . sometimes *I* get winded while eating soup.”

“I can see if his grandfather is still alive, if you like,” I told her with a grin.

So She Definitely Called It

“There’s a bear in our backyard,” L’s Mother announced yesterday, and despite my skepticism, she was right . . . in a sense.

The “bear” in question turned out to be a big friendly shaggy dog that happily followed me for some water and Milk-bones while I checked his collar for a phone number. One phone call later revealed that he had slipped out the door a couple houses down, and had been happily adventuring through the flooded streets until he ended up in our backyard.

He was quickly returned home and all was well again, but I’m still chuckling over it because the name on his collar was actually “Bear.”

And It Probably Never Will

The other night I had a dream that I was essentially a ghost, and my sole method of interacting with the world was via touch. Even that, however, was limited to touching people, not objects. I had a message I was trying to get across, but I couldn’t even write it, and I was starting to get frustrated even though I could understand perfectly why people weren’t sticking around long after feeling an unearthly presence touching their skin.

As bad as this was, it got worse when word started to get out about the “haunting,” and thrill seekers started seeking me out like I was a cheap Halloween attraction. This finally culminated in a group of college-age girls coming to my location and throwing giggling dares at me to “touch them.”

Even in my dream I recognized this as an awkward situation because on one hand I don’t like saying no to a request (particularly a request like that one) unless I have a reason, but on the other hand, there was room for doubt as to the seriousness of their request, or at least some doubt that they seriously thought the request might actually be granted.

“You could have just booped their noses,” L’s Mother opined when I told her about all this when I awoke.

Chuckling a throaty chuckle, I smirked and admitted, “I can honestly say that option never even occurred to me!”

I Think She Was Making A Joke, But It Was Greek To Me

This needs to stop before this gets even an iota worse!

– L’s Mother upon hearing of the formation of Tropical Storm Zeta