Most of the time, people just don’t get Boyfriend Extraordinaire. They hear his comments and questions without realizing he’s making fun of someone or something, and they just continue talking to him. Meanwhile, I am usually on the other side of the room laughing, because only I seem to understand his humor.
Also, you cannot get a straight answer out of him to save your life. This used to bother me and I would almost lose my mind trying to get him to be logical and stop joking around. We once had a half-hour battle (totally my fault because I let it continue) over the concept of whether his eyes were a part of his head, or if they were independent of it. He’s actually rubbed off on me and now I cannot answer his questions without turning it into a joke.
On the way up to Michigan, he offered me one of his curly fries from Hardee’s as we sat at a picnic table and dined on lunch, which we were sharing with the seagulls. I refused the curly fry and we had the following ridiculous conversation.
Me: No! I don’t eat curly fries. It’s totally inhumane what they do to potatoes to get curly fries.
B.E.: What are you talking about?
Me: Well, they force it to grow around a steel pole in the ground. It’s unnatural!
B.E.: No they don’t! They have these things that cut the potato in the curled shapes.
Me: No, that’s what they WANT you to think. They torture the potato, pushing it and twisting it around this pole all its life!
B.E.: Okay, fine, but they don’t hurt the potato. It’s an HONOR to be a curly fry. Only special potatoes are chosen to grow up this way and have the distinction of being curly.
Me: No way being contorted like that isn’t agony! Michael Moore did a documentary on it. I know what really goes on with making curly fries! I will not eat them.
So, we torment each other with our crazy conversations.
On the way home from the trip, we passed Fond du Lac, Wisconsin, and given that B.E. had taken years of French in school and has frequently translated for me in the past, I asked him what it meant.
B.E.: Well, Lac means lake. And obviously Fond du means fondue. So, it’s a big, fondue lake over there.
Me: We ARE in Wisconsin. It’s probably a big, melted cheese lake then.
B.E.: That’s right. In Wisconsin, of course they have a town named after a big, melted cheese lake. Fond du Lac. Fondue Lake. You gotta love Wisconsin.
If for one second I believed anything he said, imagine how stupid I’d look to others if I tried to repeat any of what he tells me.
Perhaps the one area of our relationship that causes me the most unease is that moment when he says he has a present for me. I fear his gifts, not because they’re dangerous, but because I just have no idea how to react to them. Let me show you.
B.E.: I got you a present!
Me: Oh no. You didn’t. Schwee, you don’t have to bring me presents. I keep telling you.
B.E.: I know, but I like to give you things. And this is going to be perfect.
Me: But Schwee! Oh god, this scares the shit out of me.
B.E. (laughing): NO, you’re going to like this one! It’s perfect for you!
Me: Like the Pooh overalls? Both pairs? Or the salt and pepper shakers you gave my mom? Oh man, Schwee, you REALLY don’t have to give me presents!
B.E.: Shush! Close your eyes and hold out your hand.
I felt him fastening something enormous and heavy on my wrist. My stomach dropped.
Dammit, it’s some kind of jewelry. How the heck am I going to pretend to be flattered and grateful when it weighs this much?
I opened my eyes and found this fastened to my wrist.
He calls it a bling watch. He says that the girl who orders street lit for the library should have a bling watch. It has a spinner hubcap on it, with fake jewels.
And it actually spins.
You can open up the wheel cover to see the time beneath. It isn’t just for looks. This piece of crap actually keeps time.
What the hell do you say to this? I mean, I’m not sure if he got this for me at the flea market as a gag gift or as a serious gift. He never laughed when I was gawking at the watch, unable to bend my hand because of how huge the watch is, and unable to lift my arm because of the weight of it. He was so proud of this gift, and I seriously don’t know if he was proud of coming up with such a hilarious gift, or if he truly thought it was the best gift ever. I’m leaning toward the hilariousness of it, but I can’t be sure.
I don’t know if you have a Schwee in your life, but if you do, consider yourself pretty damn lucky.
Also, if you do, let’s get together and sell some of our insane gifts.
5 comments:
That's a bling watch if ever I saw one. That. Is. Hysterical.
I still consider one of the best gifts my Lummox ever gave me to be the jar of dried frog pills.
If you ever get around to reading Terry Pratchett, you'll understand that one. :D
I can't comment. I'm too mesmerized by the sparkle.
Leelu:
Well, that sounds...gross. Schwee actually has given me a few great gifts, but it's the other ones that make me cringe whenever he says he has a present for me. I'd be happy with just a back rub.
Kate:
Yeah, I know, which is partially why I could never wear it. Crows would peck me clean. That and the fact that it's hideous will keep it hidden somewhere in my room forever.
I love it...any gift that can make you laugh at it's silliness is great. My husband is not so clever, mosts of his gifts are normal, but he does make some pretty funny cards for me and it is always making fun of the names of the stores over here in Kosovo.
His best one is about a restaurant called, Ben Af. He says, "How does an international use Ben Af in a sentence...My f--kin' power has ben af for six hours!" That is funny, because it could also be true.
Tracy:
Ah, I was afraid Ben Af was somehow connected to Ben Affleck, but it's much better your way. :) All I can say is at least you have an entertaining husband to keep you company when the power has Ben Af for so much of the time.
Post a Comment