Saturday at lunch Ty informed the family that he has an invisible tail.
Ya wanna see?
Well, I will try to see it. It is invisible after all.
He wags his bum at me and says, see it?
Uh, well….
It has very small feathers on it that you need a microscope to see.
It does?
Mommy? When something is invisible can you still touch it and feel it?
I think so. But I don’t really know for sure.
Well, then my tail is also intangible.
Of course it is.
On our recent vacation to Whidbey Island, I found these little quiz books at the local “everything” shop.
Whatever…
But then a few zingers found their way into the game, for example:
#26 Which one of your women friends does he find the most attractive?
Let’s just say I got that one right. Not because he admitted it, but because he turned bright red and opened a beer.
#89 Is there anything you (he) can do that SHE can’t?
No. I can even pee standing up, if required. Oh, wait, he can swim the butterfly. Take it from me, my butterfly is pretty darn ugly. I also cannot do calculus.
#43 What would she say about the idea of a strip club a mile from your home? A.) “Where do I sign to protest?” B.) “Makes no difference to me!” C.) “Great!” or D.) “Hmmm, Wonder if they are hiring?” Well, since the high school I used to work at is RIGHT NEXT to a strip club (I kid you not), I am gonna go with C. Okay, just kidding.
Of course, now when some creep out ther googles “strip club” my blog will come up. Lovely.
So, if you are bored this summer and looking to torture your husband, pick these little gems up. Or better yet, give them as wedding gifts. The groom will thank you, I am sure.
On Wednesday I attended the wettest soccer game ever anywhere since the world began.
One VERY wet soccer player!
But Wednesday’s soccer game took the warning “Rain or Shine” to a whole new level. Let’s just say NOAH would have been intimidated. When I realized that the raindrops actually hurt as they fell, I had Dave call the assistant coach of the soccer team and ask if, perchance, this game would be, well… rained out. Oh no, that doesn’t happen, he said. And so off I went with a carload of 6th grade girls and Ty, who insisted that he loved the rain.
Mud Puddles
What resulted was 90 of the wettest minutes of my life. And I was on swim team. The girls were soaked to the skin within 3 minutes — aka the walk from the car to the field. The parents had various rain protection devices with them — aka, boots, umbrellas, and a stoic attitude. Ty and I huddled under our newly purchases “sports-brella” which is a giant, oversized umbrella designed to sit on its side, like a cave. Ty said to me, “If we had to live in this sports-brella, that would be so sad!” Agreed. When Ty realized that staying dry was hopeless, he headed straight for the puddles. Well, I thought, at least I don’t have to go to a birthday party at Chuck E. Cheese.
The good news is that the players had a good time and that when we got home there were hot showers and chili dogs waiting for us. Processed meat never tasted so good.
Not long after I met Dave I learned something that was (and still is) more than a little disturbing. He LOVES spiders. If he spots a spider crawling along the floor or wall he says, “Hello friend,” then goes and gets a glass to rescue the spider by scooping it ever so gently up and releasing it back “into the wild” as he likes to say. I guess what he failed to understand was that part of the allure of having a boyfriend- then fiancee -then husband is that they are here to smash bugs and, yes, spiders, into oblivion so I do not have to reside with them….ever.
The only time he ever deviated from his rescue plan was when we found the largest, crunchiest, gnarliest looking spider crawling along our kitchen floor. I mean, this thing was TROPICAL it was so nasty. At the time we had this wonderful cat, Bree, who likened herself a huntress (and proved it on more than one occaision). As I stood atop the kitchen table, Dave — as usual — ever so gently put our largest drinking glass over the top of the spider, but then he said, “Here Kitty Kitty.” As Bree approached the caged spider, Dave lifted the glass and Bree had herself a nice tasty spider morsel for dinner that night. I can still hear the crunching. When I asked him why this type of death for his friend the spider was okay (as opposed to being squished by a shoe or waded up paper towel) he came back to his old standard. “Well, the spider died in the wild, eaten by its natural predator.” I guess he failed to consider that large jelly jar styled drinking glasses to not randomly descend on spiders in the wild.
Last Friday, however, the world was made right — tilted back into balance, if you will.
The temperature had reached 65 degrees here in the Seattle area and so we decided to dine al fresco for dinner. As we were wrapping up our meal Jade – age 14 – noticed the smallest little spider on the table, crawling right along the edge. She pushed back her chair and started to do that high pitch talking that only dogs can hear, “OOOH, a spider… ooh….ooh…” Well, I said, why don’t you smash it? “Nooooo….!!!” she screeches. Okay, I say, you have two choices. You can smash it or you can pull “a Dave” and rescue it and release it into the wild. “EEEEWWWW,” she says. “EWWWW!!!” She then curled herself into a ball and started to shiver.
“Oh” says Ty — age FIVE — ” I know the choice!!!! DESTROY IT!” He then leans over with his napkin, smashes it into bits and smiles at me.
Problem solved.
I can now rest easy at night.
But we all had to vow not to tell Dave.
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