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.
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.
- 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?
- 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.