So my husband and I took the kids to the restaurant on Saturday night. The kids were talking to each other so that meant that Wayne and I had about 3 minutes of uninterrupted “us” time.
I say, “You never cuddle me.”
He says, “Yes, I do.”
“No, you don’t. In the bed when you want to get laid doesn’t count. I mean throughout the day. You don’t come up to me and cuddle me. I would like a little more action throughout the day. Not just when you’re horny.”
“Well, I’m busy,” he replies.
“I’m busy too, but you could take one minute to come and give me a hug. I’m always the one who gives the hugs first.”
I continue, “Come to think of it, none of my other boyfriends/fiancées/husbands ever cuddled me either. Do you think there’s something wrong with me? Do I put out this man-eater vibe?”
“Oh don’t worry, you’re not a man-eater,” he says, and I chose to ignore his double-entendre because:
1. I’m deep into my own thoughts
2. I don’t really care about his thoughts
“So you don’t think it’s me, then,” I ask.
Sighing loudly -because now we’ve had two and half minutes of conversation about a topic other than my squeaking breaks – he says, “No, you’re fine. It’s not you.”
Fast-forward to much later in the night, when I’m sitting in the bed, on my laptop.
Wayne comes to bed, gets under the covers, and starts with the “Oh sweetie, you’re so sexy in that ratty old nightgown. Come over here and give me some sugar!” No of course sugar is not used once in our conversation, but you don’t need to know what goes on in my bedroom. I’m private that way.
I don’t respond because I’m very intent on what I’m reading.
“Whatcha doing?” he asks. “Waisting your time?”
I’m not waisting my time. I’m blog hopping!
And he knows it.
But, ever so calmy, I reply, “Yup. I guess I’m waisting my time.”
I refuse to get worked up because it’s late, and the only person who suffers when my temper flares at 1am is me.
I’ll be the one laying awake all night with visions of holding a pillow over his head.
But then…THEN he says, “I have an answer.”
“What do you mean ‘you have an answer’?”
“To your question earlier,” he says. “About why nobody ever shows you any affection.”
“So what’s the answer?”
“It’s because you’re too busy.”
DOUBLE GASP!!! FOLLOWED BY MY EYES BULGING, MY HEAD SPINNING, AND MY MIDDLE FINGER FLIPPING.
I’m too busy? I’m the one who is too busy????
What part of our conversation at the restaurant did he not understand?
This is what I get though for having a conversation with him when there’s a giant screen TV hanging in front of us on which Toronto is playing Montreal.
Apparently though, on top of his selective hearing, the guy does indeed want death by asphyxiation because he rolls over away from me, and mumbles, “I bet you’ll even blog about this.”
Oh, you bet your blue balls I am!