She said, she said

This morning I felt a rare creative burst and, wanting to corral it before it sprinted away, I started typing like a man possessed. If my next book sells, you'll be able to ensconce yourself in another of my many delightful takes on human excrement. Just try to contain your excitement.

While I was tapping away, Patty and our daughter Kelly left for school. Kelly returned briefly to let me know that we'd forgotten to take the garbage out the night before, so I'd have to take care of it. I mumbled, "Mmmph", which is Canadian for "Okay," or, "That sucks." And then I forgot all about it for the next three hours.

When the garbage truck roared by and I subsequently raced outdoors in a frenzy, I was already too late. So I returned and nervously initiated a dialogue over Google Talk with Patty. I've included the discussion here. I've added translation to help clarify the difference between what Patty wrote and what I'm pretty sure Patty actually meant.

Me: “Shit! I forgot to take the garbage out until now and, of course, today they came early for the first time ever.”

Her: “Man. I thought Kelly went in to tell you that it wasn’t done.” Translation: You never listen, putz.

Me: “She did, but I screwed up. Sorry.”

Her: “What do we do?” What the fuck is wrong with you?

Me: “Well, I guess we’ll have to hold on to it for another week. I’m really sorry. I was writing that story about poop...haha...you remember...and I got distracted.”

Her: “It’s going to be really smelly. We had crab last night.” Hey asshole, thanks for stinking up the neighborhood!

Me: “I don’t know what I can do. All of the houses on all sides had theirs picked up.”

Her: “Okay. Maybe I can figure something out.” Great, now I'm going to have to smuggle the garbage you forgot into some dumpster somewhere.

Me: “It’s not that big of a deal. Maybe it will get cold and the garbage will freeze.”

Her: “Okay, it’s no big deal.” It’s a big deal. Did you get that? A B-I-G D-E-A-L.

Me: “Now you hate me! Bad, bad husband!”

Her: “No, it’s okay.” I hate you! Bad, bad husband!

Me: “I will go into the kitchen and stab myself in the eye with a crab leg. Okay?”

Her: “Sure thing. Let me know when you’ve done it.” Sure thing. Hurry. Or can I do it?

Me: “Okay…stand by. I couldn’t get it past my eyelid. I kept blinking.”

Her: “Oh. Chicken!” If I was home, you'd have no chance to chicken out.

Me: “I didn’t try chicken. Should I?”

Her: “No, it will get infected. Just leave it.” I don’t want second-hand salmonella.

Me: “Fine. It’s your call. I could punch myself in the testicles, though.”

Her: “No. Never mind.” You'd pull your punch.

Me: “I’ll keep the garbage on my side of the bed all week. That’ll teach me.”

Her: “No thanks. That sounds unpleasant.” …unless you sleep in another room.

Me: “Why don’t you come up with something creative, like, ‘No sex until I get home from work?’”

Her: “How about no sex until the garbage gets picked up?” I want to be a trifle barbaric.

Me: “That seems a trifle barbaric.”

Her: “Of course.” Of course.

Me: “I could eat the moldy tuna salad you found in the fridge. Oh, great, now you’re thinking about the moldy tuna salad spending an extra week in the garbage.”

Her: "Gross.” Yes, that’s all I’ll think about.

Me: “Forgive me?”

Her: “Yes. I have to run to the bathroom. I’ll be back in a bit. Cool?” No...never. I won't forgive and, trust me, I'll never forget.

Me: “Okay…if I haven’t maimed myself.”

Her: “Does that somehow prevent me from returning?” I could easily live with out you. Watch me.

Me: “No, it just means I may be in a puddle of blood and therefore unable to type.”

Her: “Okay, if you don’t respond, I’ll know why.” Make sure you put down drop-sheets, first.

Me: "Love you, baby."

Her: "Love you, too." ♫ Can't find a better man, no, can't find a better man ♫