On our nightly ritual:

• Frank: What time do you want to get up tomorrow?
• Me: 6
• Frank (leaning over to set the alarm, realizes the insanity of my request, narrows his eyes at me): C’mon Em, really? Really?
• Me: 6:15
• Frank: 7
• Me: Frank, really, I’ll get up.  6:30.
• Frank: 7
• Me: 6:35.  And that’s my final answer.

On driving:

Scene: Frank is driving.  He is about to make a left turn, but hasn’t put his signal on yet or moved over.  In reality, he is going to make the turn just fine.  This is where I come in.

• Me: (frantic) Left turn…. (and then remembering my manners) Please.
• Frank: I know where I am going.   Remember how you were going to ask me “Do you know where you are going?” before you tell me where to go?
• Me: Yes.
• Me ( a few seconds later): Do you know where you are going?
• Frank: YES!  We are going HOME.  This is our STREET.
• Me: Oh, ok.  Cuz you didn’t get over, so I just thought you needed a reminder.  That’s our house on the left.

On sad one-liners:

Scene: driving past a “no outlet” sign.

• Frank: Hey, you can’t plug in your hair dryer down there.
• Me: Why?
• Frank: Cuz they don’t have an outlet.  Get it? “No Outlet.”  You can’t–
• Me: And we’re done.

Scene: driving past a “Slow Children Playing” sign

• Frank: There are slow children playing here –
• Me: Ok, enough.  Turn left! Please!

Scene: someone breaks suddenly in front of us.

• Me: Frank! Stop!
• Frank: Easy.  I got it.  Eyes down.  Why don’t you take a little nap?

On being panicked, looking for Frank’s log book

• Frank: Emily, where is my log book?
• Me: I don’t know.

– hours later, Frank finds the log book.

• Frank: Emily, why was my log book with the Christmas decorations.
• Silence
• Silence
• Me: Hmm.  I’m really not sure.  Did you put it there?
• Frank: Emily. Who put away the Christmas decorations?
• Me: I did.
• Frank: So why did you put my log book in with the Christmas decorations?
• Silence
• Me: What was the question again?

On being sick.

Scene: The morning after Christmas.  I roll over to see Frank still sleeping, but I get the distinct sense that something is amiss.  What could it be?  I wander into the bathroom and see what I can only describe as a small disaster.  A bucket of – water? – next to the toilet.  And the shower curtain – is it? could it be? – might be stained.  I walk back into the bedroom and nudge Frank.

• Me: Hey honey, what’s going on in the bathroom?
• Frank: Yeah, I was going to tell you about that.  See, I got sick last night.
• Me: (eyes narrowing) Ok.  What happened?
• Frank: So I puked.  A lot.  And at about the sixth explosive vomiting wave, I lost control of my neck muscles.
• Me: Ah.  So we need a new shower curtain?
• Frank: Yeah, something like that.

Note on scene: this was the direct result of 3 lbs of prime rib and 1 lb of his mother’s peacans.  He can’t blame it on alcohol because, well, there just wasn’t any stomach space left for drinking at that point.