More of Z’s Sweet Nothings
Published April 3rd, 2007 in A day in the lifeWhen you live with someone, particularly with someone you love, you really get to know them. It doesn’t work the same way for everyone, but maybe you get a sense of what they’re going to do even before they do it – between his wife and me, Big Brother hasn’t won a game of Rock-Paper-Scissors since ’98. Or maybe you know what they mean, regardless of how they say it.
The other day, Wonder Woman asked me if I wanted to have a date night. It sounds romantic, sure, but by now I know that she really just wanted sushi from the place down the street, and the only way she could convince me to drop forty dollars on a Wednesday night dinner is if something special was going on. Meanwhile, I know that after date night I can pull out the sex menu and order one of the Market Price items, so I was fine with the arrangement. I love me some Sex Lobster.
But for some reason I decided to inform Wonder Woman that while dinner sounded good, I saw right through her flimsy “date” scheme, and I already knew exactly where she wanted to go, what she’d want to eat, and what she’d tell me to order so that she could have all the stuff she wanted.
Meanwhile, Wonder Woman perceives herself as a highly evolved mammal whose complex thought processes lie beyond the ability of man to predict. (Then again, so does Big Brother, AKA, “Scissors, Scissors, Rock”.) There’s no way I could have known all that about the sushi unless I was some kind of mind-reading superhuman. She asked me how – HOW - I could possibly know that.
My reply: “C’mon. It’s like predicting the behavior of a toaster.”
Now, I’ll concede that it probably wasn’t a good idea to imply that my girlfriend is simple. Funny, maybe, but not a good idea. Before I opened my mouth, she was a little in awe of me – I could have convinced her that our love had given me some sort of sixth sense of her, an empathic bond that I feel even when we are miles apart. It’s corny, but she would have swooned, and as everyone knows, swooning women become a lot less particular about which of their orifices you can put your penis in. At the very least I could have told her I was a Jedi; how many times does THAT opportunity come along? Instead, I pull back the curtain on my own magic trick. Not very smart at all.
But to choose a kitchen appliance as an illustration… now that was phenomenally dumb. That took the stupid I already had and simmered it down to moron gravy. Now I want to say that to her credit, WW didn’t even get mad; we’ve been around this block enough times that we should see if any of the houses are for sale. But that doesn’t mean I shouldn’t make it up to her. What about a poem? Here’s what I have so far: “I must come clean; no need to inquire / I love you; you’re my free-standing washer-dryer.”
Word.
That is a totally awesome poem. If she doesn’t rip off her clothes after reading that, well then she just doesn’t see the brilliance in the appliance.
Rock, Scissors, Rock
Big Brother
Sometimes the filter that keeps my mouth from saying everything my brain comes up with doesn’t work, either. The other night my wife and I were watching something that prompted her to ask if I’m more of a leg man or a breast man or an ass man, blah blah blah. I tried to weasel my way out of it by telling her she was my type, but after about 10 more minutes of hounding, I gave up and said, ” I prefer mutes.” Haven’t had sex since.
So I’m as predictable as an appliance.
Our love did not give you a sixth sense or a bond that binds us over the miles
But you’re definitely NOT a Jedi—I’m sure and steady, not stupid.
Your real mistake was comparing me to a mere no-name toaster or free-standing washer-dryer—
Baby, I’m more like a Sub Zero wine storage unit,
which stays a constant temperature, sure.
But this high-end appliance can house 147 bottles in two different zones,
is full of additional special features,
is high quality,
looks great in any home,
and can be customized to wear platinum.
“can house 147 bottles in two different zones” - well, we’ll just see about that.
147? In a row?
While you’re smiling and thinking about “can house 147 bottles in two different zones” your real problem is “can be customized to wear platinum”.
Who’s simple now, z?
Erica
WW, please ignore this…
Erica, one thing we (men) learned early on, is to focus on the easy things and hope the complicated things will be forgotten.
On Oz they would refer to their prison bitches as Maytags.
http://www.urbandictionary.com/define.php?term=maytag
sub zeros must be some kind of high-end variation
So what’s next? Invite the regulars from The Neutral Ground over for a gangbang and then a mariage proposal?
y’know, I don’t see that on the itinerary. And Erica, just because something CAN be outfitted for platinum does not mean it will. After all, why would I want to put precious metal on my wine fridge? What if I see a better model out there? Why would I want to be tied down to the same old fridge, day in, day out?
Whew; I’m getting sweaty. Digging my own grave is hard work.