Some Things Are Too Important
How is it that adult humor is the most juvenile?
Heh heh heh.
So yesterday, @zobar and I are sitting at the dinner table, each discussing our sucky days at work, but good-naturedly, because, well, you know, things aren't that bad and also the food is good.
Z's drinking 100% grape juice, and reading the back of the bottle. "This says an 8-ounce glass is two servings of fruit," he says. "But I think it should be more than that. I mean, from 8 ounces of pure grape juice? You should get, like, two servings of fruit and a gold star."
I find this amusing, and begin considering giving people gold stars. I am feeling benevolent towards Z at this point, for reasons which will become clear as the story progresses. "We should give each other stars," I say.
"I dunno," he says. "What for?"
"Well," I say. "Let's see. I would give you:
He looks oddly wounded. "Don't I get any for doing all the dishes in the sink?"
I pause. I blink. "You did?"
He points. I look. The sink had been full of things like the wok and the grill pan and other non-dishwasherable things, left over from a rather ambitious dinner earlier in the week. I mean, full, like to the point that I tried to rinse out a milk glass and wound up breaking the thing.
Now it is not.
"Oh, honey," I say. "No, you don't get stars for that."
"I don't?"
"No," I say. "You get oral sex for that."
Some things are too important to fuck around with stickers.
Heh heh heh.
So yesterday, @zobar and I are sitting at the dinner table, each discussing our sucky days at work, but good-naturedly, because, well, you know, things aren't that bad and also the food is good.
Z's drinking 100% grape juice, and reading the back of the bottle. "This says an 8-ounce glass is two servings of fruit," he says. "But I think it should be more than that. I mean, from 8 ounces of pure grape juice? You should get, like, two servings of fruit and a gold star."
I find this amusing, and begin considering giving people gold stars. I am feeling benevolent towards Z at this point, for reasons which will become clear as the story progresses. "We should give each other stars," I say.
"I dunno," he says. "What for?"
"Well," I say. "Let's see. I would give you:
- 1 star for the snuggles you gave me this morning
- 1 star for the sex, because that was nice too
- 1 star for making dinner because it's awesome
- and 2 stars for buying me Cadbury eggs on the way home because that involved remembering a conversation and extrapolating it into action which means a Bonus Star.
He looks oddly wounded. "Don't I get any for doing all the dishes in the sink?"
I pause. I blink. "You did?"
He points. I look. The sink had been full of things like the wok and the grill pan and other non-dishwasherable things, left over from a rather ambitious dinner earlier in the week. I mean, full, like to the point that I tried to rinse out a milk glass and wound up breaking the thing.
Now it is not.
"Oh, honey," I say. "No, you don't get stars for that."
"I don't?"
"No," I say. "You get oral sex for that."
Some things are too important to fuck around with stickers.