The Husband

My husband said the most ridiculous things. Really, he does. There are many times where we will be having a conversation and I’m honestly in my head thinking “Are we really having this conversation…yep, we are.”

Today we had a gem of a conversation the product of which started the previous night. I made “Chicken” buffalo meat balls. They are made with turkey instead of chicken because ground chicken is kind of hard to get a hold of for some reason, so whatever, they’re pretty tasty. These little suckers are hot. I  mean HOT HOT HOT. The last time I made them I didn’t remember them being that hot, later in the night I was reading my bottle of Frank’s Red Hot to make sure I didn’t buy the extra hot kind. I did not they were just extra hot for some reason.

I had to go to the doctor’s office so the Husband come home early. He asked if I was going to eat. No, because my stomach was upset…it’s not very wise to eat spicy meatballs for breakfast, and only spicy meatballs. <queue strange conversation>

Husband: I was doing alright until I left for work and then OMG it was so bad. I farted in the car.

o_O

Husband: It was awful, I thought I was going to have to pull over!

Me: Why didn’t you just roll down the window?

Husband: Because it’s like 10 degrees out.

Me: And what were you going to do if you pulled over.

Husband: Uh…get out of the car.

Me: It’s like 10 degrees out!

Husband: …..

…..

Husband: I thought it might make it [the fart] all the way home and then you would have to smell it when you got in the car to go to your appointment.

 

So, in conclusion the real reason Husband wouldn’t roll down the window to air out his own rotten fart was the hope that it would make it the 20 or so mile drive for the chance it might linger long enough and I would step into an inclosed car full of fart smell.

 

Some time later that day….

Me: Hey, was it you or me that forgot to take the little plastic thing off the ham and it started to melt in the oven?

Husband: Must have been you, I know how to cook.

Me: Says the man who doesn’t know how to make mashed potatoes.

Husband: I know how to make them now and their waaaaay better then yours.

 

They’re just mashed potatoes. Nothing fancy. A few years ago Husband was laid off of work, well partially. They were cut back to four days a week, he had Friday off. His dream plan as he said it was that he was going to get up laid watch T.V. all day and do nothing. I was having none of it. I told him that if he was going to be home that entire day when I was work that I expected the house to be clean and dinner to be ready when I got home. For someone who had to ask his room mate in college “how do you brown hamburger” making something other than a box meal was a challenge. One day he has a recipe he has decided to try. One that was a bit challenging and include mashed potatoes. He asks me “How do you make mashed potatoes.” Thinking it was a bit of a dur question I replied “You put them in water and boil them.” I then looked over and saw him standing with a pot of water and a whole potato – unwashed, un peeled, straight from the bag – in the other hand. He stood there a few moments as I watched, then the look on his face looked like it had just dawned on him how to make mashed potatoes. He plopped the potato with a splash of water in the pot and set it on the stove. Ta-da! mashed potatoes. After I had a good laugh I altered my directions to be “First peel, then cut in to chunks, then pot w/ water, boil until tender, mash with butter and milk.” Then we had mashed potatoes every time he cooked anything. The same thing happened after I taught him how to make gravy using bullion, flour, butter and water. Gravy…on EVERYTHING for over a month.

 

 

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