"That's not writing - that's typing." --Truman Capote
John’s finally getting around to recycling the pile of cards he got for his birthday. Since he turned 40 this time, some are more sadistic than others:
Card from my father, “Ma-cho ma-cho man….”
John (cutting open the card in order to fiddle with the mechanism), “Hmmm…”
Cfmf, “I want to be – a macho man!”
John, “Oh. So that’s how that works.”
Cfmf, “I want to be a macho!”
Me, “Hit it with a hammer.“
John: “You want fruit with your breakfast”
Me: “Yes, please – an apple would be great.”
“We have pears.”
“Are they hard?”
“No – they’re right at that point where if you squeeze them a bit, they bruise.”
“Are you bruising my pear?”
“Only a little.”
“That’s it – I’m calling Fruit Protection Services.”
Robynn and Rana rightly note the influence of Eddie Izzard in this post:
John: Those stilts are creepy.
Me: Not as creepy as clowns.
John: Maybe creepier than clowns.
Me: No way. Clowns are creepiest. But clowns on stilts…
John: Epic creepy.
“Is that the guy from the hive thing?”
“‘Every sci fi show has a hive of some kind. Can you narrow that down for me?”
“You know, as we were driving up to your house, we almost couldn’t find your exit?”
“Really?”
“Yeah – it’s 404.”
…
…
groan.
“Add edamame to the list. I know we already have a couple of bags, but if the apocalypse comes, we’ll need some.”
“I think if the apocalypse comes, edamame will be the least of our worries.”
“Oh, no soybeans are important during an apocalypse. Protein. Fiber.”
“Seriously – if we’re quickened? Swooped? What’s the word?”
“Raptured?”
“Yeah.”
“You make it sound like a financial program.”
“You don’t know how disappointed I was to see the doors close just as I reached the top of the escalator last night, then had to wait 20 minutes for the next train.”
“I know.”
“It was one of those, ‘Oh, if I’d just crossed the street a little faster, or gotten behind someone faster at the turnstiles’ – remember that movie Sliding Doors?”
“Yeah?”
“It was just like that.”
“Oh?”
“Except, you know – for the mugging and the pregnancy and dying and finding you in bed with another woman and a lot of other stuff.”
“Right.”
“Yes, exactly like that.”
—————————————–
Reading aloud from DCist’s own “overheard” column, after both of us have indulged in a hearty laugh:
On the Navy Yard Metro platform after Thursday’s Nats game:
Metro policeman: “People, move it on to the middle of the train. Let’s pack the car right Nats fans. You not cherry-blossomers. You people know to do this. You live here.”
“I think I love that far more than I should admit.”
Me: Are you using Henry* to drain the cooler?
John: Yeah.
Me: Poor Henry.
John: He volunteered.
Me: He’s a giver, Henry is.
John: Yes, he is.
*All fake turtles in our house are named Henry.
“I shall go upstairs and change, and then I shall be returned.”
“You will be returned? Do I get a refund?”
“Minus a 15% restocking fee.”