So there I was, sitting patiently at the table while my son made a mine-field of his dinner tray. Meatballs, vegetables, those twirly pasta noodles... they were getting smeared everywhere, some few making them into his mouth. The dog was loving it, by the way. Our kitchen hardwood is always clean.
We're just now starting the conversion from bottled baby food to 'real' people food for the boy. He has a way to go before he can appreciate a twelve ounce strip sirloin, but bits of meatballs and veggies are a good start.
As I was sitting and watching the boy, my darling wife was heating up her own dinner and about to join me at the table. (Leftovers from the past few nights.) We got into some idle chatter as I was waiting for her to join me at the table. Our idle chatter quite often involves greater or lesser degrees of merciless teasing, depending on the direction of the conversation. I started to get the upper hand last night.
SHE: Hey! You're not supposed to tease me like that!
ME: Why not?
SHE: Because I'm the one with more personality.
ouch...
The previous night we made the effort to get her VW Jetta started back up. 'Someone' had left on something electronic when 'she' shouldn't have and the battery was deader than my hopes of ever playing squash again on anything resembling a regular basis. (Damn, I miss that.)
I asked her to steer the car out of the garage while I pushed it. The concrete floor was pretty slick with a mixture of water and sporadic drippin's of antifreeze. Needless to say, my footing was not all that secure and overcoming the coefficient of static friction wasn't very easy. (The car's friction; my feet were getting much more than what they needed.) And the kinetic friction, once I got 'er going, wasn't much better.
Amy decided at this time to pipe up from within the confines of the car, "Jesus Christ Simon, be a man for once!" I nearly lost it. From laughter, that is. For this was a direct reference back to one of our first dates almost four years ago where that exact same line was uttered by her at an Oktoberfest celebration, urging me on to quaff my beer in a slightly less protracted fashion than had been my wont that night. I ended up green, cold and clammy by 9.30 PM, and Amy had to drive me back to my apartment where she poured me into bed after ensuring I had spent an acceptable amount of time driving the porcelain bus. We had known each other less than two months at that point.
So hopefully you can understand the relative hilarity of the garage situation and I was still smiling when I offered her a barage of four-letter words in return. We love each other truly, madly, deeply. Really we do.
(Unfortunately, Volkswagons have an auto theft deterrent system that kicks in when the battery goes dead, so even though the AMA came by and was able to boost the car back to life [after the neighbour and I spent an hour in a failed attempt], it's still operating in 'SAFE' mode, without any radio reception, and we'll have to take it in to the dealership to have the confounded thing reset.)
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