(I’m six months pregnant and don’t have many maternity clothes, so I throw on a dress and tights before going to work.)
Husband: “You look really nice today.”
Me: “I ran out of pants that fit.”
Husband: “You’re carrying our child. You are the hottest woman in the world, even more so without pants.”
(My husband is getting ready to go to work, which he really doesn’t want to do.)
Me: “You have to start the car to let it heat up; it’s cold outside”
(He gets an evil grin on his face, walks up to me, and grabs my boob, turning his hand a little.)
Me: “What do you think you are doing?”
Husband: “Starting the car, but it’s not working. OH!” *while still holding my boob, he moves behind me and stands so his front is touching my backside* “Maybe I have to put the key in.”
Me: “Out! Go start the car!”
(He opens up his mouth to say something, but before he does I specify:)
Me: “The Malibu!”
Husband: “But you are my Malibu Barbie.”
(Laughing, he runs out of the house to start the car. A couple of minutes later, he is back inside and asks where his mitts are; I borrowed them to shovel some snow.)
Me: *handing them to him* “Sorry, they are still wet. At work, you should put them by a heater or something so they dry properly.”
(Again, he gets that evil smile and walks up to me, placing a mitt on each shoulder. I just look at him.)
Husband: “They will be dry in no time now.”
Me: *oblivious* “What do you mean?”
Husband: “You said to put them by something hot!”
(He is the weirdest romantic you will ever meet, but he’s mine.)
(My husband is absolutely not a morning person, rarely wakes to his alarms, and often talks quite clearly in his sleep. This conversation occurs when I try to wake him, after several other attempts, around 5:30 am. I have about an hour drive to work and we share one car, which he needs to use during my shift this day. Also — he absolutely hates math.)
Me: “[Husband], it’s time to get up. I’ve got to leave for work soon.”
Husband: “Okay. I’m awake.”
Me: “If you’re actually awake, you need to get out of bed.”
Husband: “I’m awake. Just a minute. We need to do math.”
Me: “…Math?”
Husband: “Yeah….”
(I leave him for a bit to make some coffee, then return to him snoring and try again.)
Me: “[Husband], are you going to wake up or just stay in bed doing math?”
Husband: *snapping awake* “Why the f*** would I do math?”
(For about six months after an accident, my husband and I have one car, forcing a lot of coordination between our schedules. For the most part, this is fine because we both work from home, most of our outings are with mutual friends, and we usually go grocery shopping together anyway. One night, he is crawling in bed when this conversation occurs:)
Me: “How’s your project going?”
Husband: “I need to go to the hardware store tomorrow to finish it.”
Me: “Okay. Just remember, I need the car at 3:00 for a doctor’s appointment.”
Husband: “Okay. I’ll just go in the morning, then.”
(The next morning, he’s working on his project in the basement. I ask when he wants to go to the hardware store and he shrugs. I go back to my work, thinking he’ll come up shortly. Around 2:00 I hear him coming up the stairs.)
Husband: “Okay. I’m gonna get my shower and then head to the hardware store. Do you need anything?”
Me: “Uh… the car?”
Husband: “What? Why? I told you I need to go to the hardware store today. What are you doing?”
Me: “Going to the doctor.”
Husband: “Since when?”
Me: “Since I set the appointment six months ago. It’s a checkup.”
Husband: “You never told me about this! Now I have to wait longer?”
Me: “Or you could have gone this morning, like you said you would last night, or you can come along and take the car while I’m at the doctor’s office and pick me up after.”
Husband: “They’re not in the same part of town. That’s not— This is ridiculous.”
Me: *deadpan* “Yes. Yes, it is. If only we had already talked about this at a previous time, like last night getting into bed.”
Husband: “Well, I— Oh. We did.”
Me: “Mmhmm.”
Husband: “And I forgot.”
Me: “Mmhmm.”
Husband: “So, I guess I’ll drive you?”
Me: *kisses him on the cheek* “Thank you, darling.”
(My mother is reading in bed while my father sleeps, when he abruptly sits up.)
Dad: “How many are there?”
Mom: “…how many what?”
Dad: “Lobsters.”
Mom: *realizing he’s asleep and knowing how much he loves lobster* “Thirteen.”
Dad: “Well, get them off!”
Mom: “What?”
Dad: “Get. Them off. The BED!”
(He then lay down and went back to sleep. This was one of my mother’s favorite stories for years.)
