At least it wasn't a fork in the eye.

I didn't put this on Facebook because I thought someone might react to it poorly, so instead I'll put it on my totally public blog!

The caption is: "Why does game night always end this way?"

Which I think is terribly funny, but my suspicion is that somebody (who doesn't have boys) will think that we're beating Ant.  My friend recently posted this definition:

Boy, n.: a noise with dirt on it.

Yes, yes, yes.  But there's more to it.  They disappear with your stuff and leave their dirty dishes and trash around like someone's going to come along behind them and clean up.  I am currently waiting for my lemon bread to bake and guess what?  I could not find two of my measuring spoons.  There was not a tablespoon to be found.  Who took them?  Where are they?  What could they have been used for?  But most importantly- am I going to want them back?

Louis C.K. says that boys cause damage that can be measured in financial terms, like tornadoes.  I can agree with that.  He says girls cause psychological damage, which I can also agree with.  Have any of you ever watched the Bad Girls Club?  It is the worst sociology experiment I have ever seen.  It is my own personal nightmare.  It's like Lord of the Flies... with girls.  When my stuff goes missing I try to remind myself that it could be so much worse, and that I will always have an excuse to find a great deal on measuring spoons at Ross.

But back to the picture.

This could easily be any night in our house.  This is what they do.  Tonight they stabbed each other with forks at the dinner table.  I'm so glad we have a kitchen table now so that we are centrally located near the phone, the first aid book, and the band aids.  This incident was during The Game of Life.  Chris was a single dad working as a hairstylist, and Ant was a childless doctor who kept winning lawsuits and owned a Tudor mansion.  We kept giggling at how Chris's path aligned with real life and Chris shot Ant with a rubber band in retaliation.  Ant got hit straight in the eyeball and hit the tile floor screaming, convinced that he was permanently blinded.  Chris scooped him off the floor, cooing apologies and checking out his eye, then let Ant smack him repeatedly with a slotted wooden spoon and a maniacal grin to even things up.

"AAAGGHH!" screamed Chris.  "Okay, that's enough.  AAAIIIIGGGHHH!  AAAGIGIIIIIIGHHHH!  Okay, STOP!"

Ant got the peas or lima beans or whatever the hell we keep in the freezer for such occasions, and we finished the game.  By the time everyone reached the end, Chris had already wandered off to play bass.  Ant's eye is fine, but do not fail to notice the look on his face.  That is a carefully crafted expression made specifically for the camera.  He was already over it and giggling at the game again.

Boys might cause damage, but they sure are entertaining.

A Clumsy Couple

So, this morning I walked into the bathroom as Chris was getting out of the shower.  But to be fair, I didn’t walk in.  I barged in.  I was moving too fast and I guess I surprised him, because I knocked him off balance and into the wall.  There’s a corner there, and the timing was just perfect.  He scraped his shoulder on the towel rod and stubbed his little toe on the corner.  He yelled and fell towards the counter, trying to get the weight off his foot.  His hands went down on the counter and smushed my glasses.   There was yelling and ruckus and accusations of being an elephant, but we giggled and made sad noises for my glasses, his shoulder, and his poor little toe.

I just got off the phone with the authorization lady at the eye clinic.  You’re generally not welcome at the eye clinic without an invitation, but there are some exceptions.  So tomorrow I can go in and see what’s next.  Ha ha, see what’s next.  That’s not nearly as funny as this morning when Chris called me an elephant and then added that I probably ran over him because I wasn’t wearing my glasses and couldn’t see him.

But I’m proud to announce that I’m not the only clumsy idiot in the house.  Chris is setting up to do sound for a TV show at his old venue, Studio on 4^th.  His control room is the old walk-in fridge and it smells pretty rank in there, so today he brought in some incense.  Incense is not going to help, but Chris firmly believes in Nag Champa.  He’s always finding stupid little crevices to anchor incense sticks in and today he might have learned his lesson.  He was putting things back into the fridge (Don’t worry, it doesn’t work.) and forgot where he’d stuck the incense.  He backed into it.  I heard him swear behind the big, heavy door like this:

“OW!  Shit!  OW OW SHIT!”

It burned the back of his neck.  Ow shit is right.  I shook my head at the fact that he was burning incense again and said that he should not leave it burning in there.

“It’s out,” he said.

Yes, because he put it out with his neck.  We make quite a team, don’t we?