Oh my god, you guys. Josh. These days. It’s like I don’t even know him anymore. He woke up one morning, without having to be physically dragged out of bed or thrown into a cold shower, a got himself dressed, without me having to throw his clothing at him and ask him 87 times to get dressed. Who is this child? This child who asked, while listening to his daddy sing Yellow Submarine (with an impeccable British accent, I might add. He is good with the accents. It’s kinda why I married him)(Oh, you think I’m kidding, huh? That’s sweet.)
“I love this song! Who sings it…The Wiggles?”
And then my (legitimately) British father-in-law had some sort of seizure.
And it may be the fever I am pretty sure I have to go along with the step throat I am pretty sure I have, but, I mean, that Wiggles line? STILL FUNNY day later. PS, I am kind of the official blog queen of strep and I probably need to start running some Amoxicillin ads on here. Or something.
The good thing about feeling feverish, in addition to working completely nude and not feeling guilty about it for a single second, is that everything kind of makes me feel giddy and happy. (and there’s a good chance when I read this post again I might begin to wonder what in the heck I was smoking when I wrote it. I assure you self, it was nothing more than a mixture of tylenol and Halls and about 11 coffees.) (But don’t worry, I swore I’d only try it once)
Like listening to Josh pronounce the word PROLOGUE. I guess it was just one of those words we’d never discussed, like, out loud. So, when he was explaining that he learned something in the prologue of a book, it took me more than ten minutes to figure out what it actually was that he was saying. It all went down a little Derek Zoolander eugoogooly-ish. Dude, I am still laughing. Way more than I laughed during The Men Who Stare at Goats, even with the Jedi references.
I am still laughing about the shoeless dude on the subway who was reading his Harlequin romance with TWO pairs of glasses on. One right on top of the other. And, interestingly, they were both square black plastic frames. Honestly, I wish I took the subway several times a day, just for the shits and giggles. My friend Dave told me that he once saw a woman lying on the floor dressed in 1920s style clothing, chugging a bottle of Dimetapp.
(I kind of wish I could steal that Dimetapp. Even if gives me the mouth herpes or something. I hear you can catch things on the subway, which is why I still carry around my SARS mask. It protects me from Toronto’s infestation of bed bugs AND it means that no one wants to sit near me. Seat to myself FTW!)
My subway stories. SIGH. They are the best.
I mean, remember when Albert Einstein (dressed as professor from Gilligan’s Island SLASH Patch Adams hybrid) flossed in front of me, and then got camera shy?
Now, if you’ll excuse me.
I need to school my son that these here guys
and not the same as these.
No matter what their thumbs are telling you.
(I think they are giving me the go-ahead for some more Tylenol)