She Thurmans My Travolta

My personality tends to be that of a problem solver. I see something that isn’t working quite correctly, and I apply enough of a solution to it to provide my desired ends. The fridge door, for example, wasn’t shutting properly. The frost from the inner freezer had grown so thick that it’s door couldn’t shut, thereby preventing the fridge door from closing.

Having a simple mind means that I need to focus on one thing at a time. Preparing dinner means that I’m limited in my “fixing” to simply slamming the door harder and harder in an effort to get it to shut. I’m not completely stupid *cough* and can realize that the frost isn’t budging, so I grabbed the nearest solid object, a can opener, and began chipping away at the minor obstruction, hoping to clear just enough to close the door despite the obvious need for a more strenuous effort.

Wife is a fixer as well. The almost supernatural similarities between the two of us sometimes startle me. When chip-chip-chipping away at an amoebic-looking chunk of ice with a smallish can opener, a large meat cleaver suddenly appearing and hacking off said chunk of ice startles me almost as much.

I saw a problem, she saw the same problem. I affected a minor solution, she decided to ratchet that solution up a bit. After watching her delightedly hacking away and blanketing the floor in a spray of ice chips, dinner was forgotten for a bit for repeated horror-movie swings of the oversized cutting tool and the ensuing clean-up consisting of the two of us standing on large towels, and twisting and dancing a la Pulp Fiction.

We may pretend we’re all adultish, paying bills and being responsible and all that shit, but when an opportunity arises to seize an “adult responsibility moment” (like defrosting a fridge or cleaning it up) and make it as childishly enjoyable as possible (like screaming, “Die-Frost!” or being John to her Uma), Wife subtly reminds me that we need to grab on to that opportunity with both hands.

My 2-year old little girl has recently turned into my 3-year old little girl, and we borrowed father-in-law’s OldClunkerCar and babysitting abilities to do some toy-shopping sans small children. I’m a firm believer that Toys ‘R Us shouldn’t be experienced any other way, and stand by this even if it IS for entirely selfish reasons.

Wife and I spent a decent amount of time oohing and aahing our way up and down the aisles (at the toys as much as at each other… we ARE still newlyweds) and wound up at the Stuffed Toy Corral. LittleOne destroys or coats in filth almost everything she comes in contact with, so we’d decided on an over-sized stuffed animal for her to abuse.

While Wife checked out the cubbyholes of little doggies and ponies, I strutted my way over to a table with a 5-foot long, 20-pound, stuffed hound dog. The thought, that I may chide my brothers-in-law on being quite childish and puerile but am nothing if not a complete hypocrite, crossed my mind as I pulled the stuffed dog towards me, hind legs first, moved his tail to the side, “pssst”ed at Wife, and casually and defiantly began to PrisonBitch him.

She appropriately stifled her giggle as I looked around sheepishly and appeared to go back to shopping. I was checking out the price on a stuffed Malamute when I saw her walk quietly over to the victimized dog, tenderly lift it’s ear aside and say quietly, “Did he touch you in bad places? Can you show me where on the dol… um… on you?”

Tears of laughter blurred my vision enough to where I almost knocked over a DVD display and further incurred the wrath of the ToyPeople.

Oh, I’ve got another diary going, a boring one, full of pictures and stupid life-in-oz-is-so-cute business. It sucks far worse than this one, if that’s possible, but if you’re interested email me and I’ll send you the link.

It’s for family and friends, and I’m only issuing this offer for those of which that read this whose email addy’s I am without (or have but forgot that I have), so don’t be offended bitchasses if I don’t give up the link, for that just means that I don’t like you.

Seriously though, it’s full of personal pictures and personal information, so if I’m not down with giving that out to total strangers, please understand.

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