(My husband dislikes yard work and doing anything remotely to do with maintenance on our home, even though it’s what he does for work. It’s been 15 years and he’s finally going decided to do something about a deck outside our back door. He takes me to our local hardware to show me the “eco” decking he has chosen so I can choose the colour I like. I’ve learned not argue because he always makes a stand for what he wants or he doesn’t go ahead with it. I just calmly point out facts, but the decision has to sound like it’s come from him or he won’t do it.)

Husband: “So, this is what I’m going to do it with. It’s made from recycled plastic and stuff but it looks like wood. What colour do you prefer?”

(It has fake wood grain texture but the colour is uniform like it’s been painted. I don’t like painted decks.)

Me: “I don’t really like the colours. Are you going to paint the wood grain on it?”

Husband: “What do you mean?”

Me: “The colour is so flat and un-interesting. If it’s supposed to look like wood, it needs to have wood grain colouring through it. I’d really like that decking over there; the colours are perfect.”

Husband: “But that’s wood and will need yearly sealing to keep it maintained. Are you going to do that?”

Me: “That’s not that hard to do. The high pressure cleaning thingy you have can be used on the eco boards, right?”

Husband: “Of course.”

Me: “So seeing as I don’t know how to use it, I guess you’ll be out cleaning all of the dirt out of the graining on those boards monthly, then?”

Husband: “Ooh, hey, look! The wood one is half the price. I think we’ll go with that.”

(My husband is getting ready for work. He takes a rolled up pair of socks and complains that I paired up two wrong socks, which appear to be completely alike except one is a bit longer than the other. I am lying in bed at the moment and we are bantering, me claiming that it’s just one shrinking and the other not, and he busting me for being bad at pairing socks. Then an idea pops into my head. I lift up my shirt and smile. My husband starts walking towards me with a smile, too, and reaches for my boobs.)

Me: “So, you like that?”

Husband: *smiling* “Of course.”

Me: “Despite the fact that one is a bit bigger than the other? So I guess the socks are just fine, then.”

(My husband and I are at my parents’ for dinner tonight and came early to help set up. Mom had eye surgery last week so we’re not letting her do anything so she recovers well. She’s one of those people who always likes to have something to keep her busy so she keeps trying to pitch in anyway.)

Dad: “[My Name], if you could set the table. [Husband], we’re using disposables so we won’t have to worry about dishes — they’re in the cabinet. [Mom], sit down and relax and stop trying to help!”

Mom: “But I need to do things! Or all my muscles will turn into Jello!”

Dad: “That’s okay! Then you’ll be what they call… Atrophy wife.”

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(My wife and I are in bed, using her laptop to write thank-you cards for our recent wedding.)

Wife: “I have to use the bathroom. And after that I’m going to move to my desk, which means I’m going to put on panties.”

Me: “Noooo, no more naked times. But will I still get to group your bobes?”

Wife: “…What?”

Me: *rearranging the vowels in my head* “Grope your boobs?”

Wife: “Yes… you can still do that.”

Me: “But you’ll be wearing underwear, so I can’t play with your pants-parts.”

Wife: “I’m not sure WHAT new language you’re writing over there… but I want in.”

(My wife is in the living room on her laptop. I’ve just made her a bowl of cereal and I go to hand it to her from behind when she turns to say something to me and her arm catches my hand, resulting in cereal spilling all over the laptop. Unfortunately, given that laptops aren’t usually supposed to eat cereal, it no longer works after this, so we embark on an ever-so-fun half-hour drive to the nearest appliance shop to get it sent off for repair.)

Me: *to the employee* “Hi, can we send our laptop off for repair? I was bringing her some cereal and—”

Wife: “We spilled… er… cow liquid on it.”

Me: “…cow liquid?”

Wife: “I forgot the word for milk, okay?”

(And that is why, from this point on, I will always refer to milk as cow liquid.)

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