Famous among dozens
Bryan has just taken a shower, and I leap on him.
Me: Ug! You’re still all wet!
(Blow on his shoulder in a mock-sexy attempt to dry him off.)
Him: Whoa! I thought you were going to spit on me at first.
Me: Spit on you?
Him: I know. I was like, “Um. That’s not-hot.”
Me: Spitting on you equals not hot.
Him: I’m thinking, we’ve only been married like three weeks, and already she’s trying to kick it up a notch.
Me: What do you think of this new lipstick?
Bryan: Eh. Gloss is more of a night makeup.
Me: (Blink. Blink.)
Bryan: What?
Flipping through the invitation book at our local stationer.
Me: These are lovely.
Bryan: Wow. Yeah.
Me: They’re not red though.
Bryan: That was my thought.
Me: But do people really remember enough about the invitation to be surprised that it doesn’t match the wedding colors?
Bryan: No way. I can’t imagine a single person doing that.
Me: What if they do? What if there are entire groups of people sitting around wondering why our wedding invitation doesn’t match our table clothes and the bridesmaid dresses?
Bryan: Come on. No one is going to notice.
Me: I think I might be one of those people who noticed.
Bryan: No, you wouldn’t.
Me: I might.
Bryan: Well then, I think you may be the exception to the rule.
Me: And/or the kind of person we wouldn’t want to be friends with anyway.
Bryan: Ha! True. Let’s get them.
Me: OK.
You know you’ve lived in a big city too long when room-service prices at the Fairmont look cheap. The best thing about being on the 19th floor is standing right in front of the bay window, naked, brushing your teeth.
Bryan has packed five tubes of chapstick in his travel bag.
Scenario: Bryan has an interest in politics.
B: When’s the State of the Union Address?
M: Beats me.
B: Hmm. (Goes rummaging around online for several minutes.)
B: Arrgh. I can’t believe it could be this hard to find.
M: You can’t find it?
B: Nowhere.
M: Huh.
B: (Points, clicks, types for another fifteen minutes.) AAAGH! (Picks up phone, presses speaker-phone option, lets it ring as he types.)
M: Who are you calling?
B:
Phone: White House. May I help you?
After a year of inattention, my archives are current. Lest you think that I finally let the guilt of a thousand (dozen) emails get to me, it was actually Bryan who finally snapped. He’s an orderly kinda guy. Thanks, mister.
Me: Did you hear the guy behind us reciting his poetry to that poor girl?
Him: Yeah. That was terrible.
Me: (Haughty-Poet voice)“I recite rather well. Would you like to hear something?”
Him: (Beat-Poet voice) “This poem is entitled “Unremarkable Poem.” You can tell it is a poem because I am reading it like this.”
Me: “The moon flying high in the sky.”
Him: “The heroin and crack dealers flying on the streets.”
Me: “Political corruption flying all around us. Lame white alley cat flying in my lap.”
(Pause.)
Me: We totally just made fun of a homeless guy.
Him: He wasn’t homeless.
Me: Yes he was. He asked the girl if she could help him out when he was done reciting to her.
Him: That doesn’t mean he’s homeless.
Me: We’re going to hell.
Driving in silence.
B: What are you thinking about, my darling?
Me: Art.
B: Oh.
Me: What are you thinking about?
B: Chips.
Me: Ha!
B: Heh.
Me: I’m smarter than you.
The next morning.
B: Ow. Be careful.
Me: What?
B: I have bruise right there from giving platelets.
Me: Uck! Uck!
B: It’s not a big deal.
Me: Blehhhh. That’s a yucky, sensitive place to have a bruise.
B: You’d put up with a bruise there if you could help, like, four people by just giving blood.
Me: Uck! Uck! I have to think about puppy dogs and rainbows now.
B: Why don’t you think about art?
Me: Ha! Punk.
Me: Hi Grandpa, it’s Margaret.
Grandpa: Hi sweetheart! How are you doin?
Me: Great! I have good news.
Grandpa: Oh? What’s that?
Me: I got engaged!
Grandpa: No kidding! That’s wonderful, that’s wonderful, honey!
Me: Yeah! I’m really happy.
Grandpa: Wow, that’s great news. Do we know this gentleman?
Me: No, you haven’t met him yet. His name is Bryan Mason; you’ll love him.
Grandpa: Is he a good guy?
Me: He’s the best guy I know.
Grandpa: Well, you should know, you’ve been around.
Me: Ha! True enough.
Grandpa: Congratulations, sweetheart. Let me get Grandma.
Me: Where are we going?
Him: We’re going for a toast.
Me: Where?
Him: Up here.
Drives into a dark little park at the top of a hill. Man in bushes crouches down as we enter the lot.
Me: Did you see that guy?
Him: What?
Me: That guy who hid when we drove in.
Him: Nope.
Me: He’s right back there.
Him: Huh. Let’s go.
Me: I’m not getting out of the car, there’s a psycho hiding in the bushes.
Him: Come on!
Me: No way! He’s seriously lying in wait for someone to rape.
Him: Let’s go!
Me: No!
Him: Come on. It’ll be fine.
Me: Do you have a pocketknife or anything?
(He closes the car door and heads out. I open the glove compartment and search for a weapon.)
And that’s why I had a pair of scissors in my pocket when he proposed.
Mighty Girl 