Eleven Months

I am not usually inclined to talk all mushy about my husband but on occasions I sit back and think to my self, “Self, you done really well in finding a perfect match husband. Plus, he’s got one fine ass” and then I usually lose track of time because, indeed, my husband has one fine ass and I like looking at said ass. Wait, where was I going with this again? Got a bit side tracked. Back-side tracked to be exact. Heh. Actually, I wanted to let you all know that my goofy husband and I spent the morning commute singing impromptu back hoe tunes to anything we could think of that might fit “back hoe” or anything back hoe related as a replacement lyric. Why? Well, because we saw a back hoe trundeling along and it seemed like the thing to do.

We sang such hits as the Beatles “Back hoe, he’s there one day driving, under my umbrella”, Madonna’s “Like a back hoe (dug for the very first time)”, the old 50’s tunes of “It’s my back hoe, I’ll dig if I want to” and my personal creative best (and that which broke my brain), Pink Floyd’s “We don’t need no excavation”. All this just to say how goofy fun it is to be married to TheMan because we do this stuff all the time.

The other fun aspect of being married to TheMan is that he is quite the conversationalist when he is dead asleep. It’s very difficult to tell exactly when he has crossed over from lucid to loopy but there are clearly points when he is awake and clearly points when he is asleep. The middle gets fun to play with (see The honorary UFO guys and their flying chairs) and of course I never let an opportunity to play with TheMan pass by. Wait a minute, I think I just ended that sentence with an infinitive or maybe I’m dangling something here that I’m not supposed to be dangling. Englishly speaking folks, although I have rather ended the paragraph with quite the collection of innuendo no? Hee.

Anyway, there were no UFO guys last night, but we did have a conversation about TheMan’s missing index. Apparently he keeps it in his head, although it took me about ten minutes of questioning to get him to say exactly what it was that he was missing. I even tried to get him to sing in his sleep at one point in time, because you all know that would have been incredibly amusing. Well to me at least, but he wasn’t going for it. Indexes have no melody. He did have an amusing bit of sleep cognition when I asked him (not yet understanding that this was the index to his head and not some other index somewhere) if someone else had taken the index. That got a laugh and one of those pauses that clearly says “You are a silly goon, but funny!” and then this incredulous “NnnnnooOOOooo! It’s in my head.” Then another pause, and more laughing, “That would be messy!” He thinks on his feet backside too it seems. I have a clever husband.

This missing index, I discovered, is the thing that lets him remember the word “polenta” and what the meaning of Sadducees is, although it sounded a whole lot like “Sagersey” to me. The strange thing about all of this is in the waking world (or rather when TheMan is awake) he has been having the hardest time coming up with the word “polenta”. There have been several similar conversations at the Q house that go something like:

TheMan: Ummm…that stuff we had. You know. Not pancetta, not pancreas, definitely not placenta. Argh! What’s that corn stuff that I made and I’m never ever going to make again?
boo: Polenta?
TheMan: Yeah! That stuff. Ick.

Weirder still was when I asked him what a “Sagersey” was (because I wrote it down in the middle of the night. Yes, I did. It was too good not to, I mean, the index to his head? And besides, I wanted to know what a “Sagersey” was) he had no clue. Eventually he figured out it was a Sadducees but still, he had no idea what the word meant, even though he recognized it. Could there be some truth to his sleep ramblings? Maybe I should take care the next time I’m cleaning the room so I don’t vacuum up the index to his head.

Oh, and plus, TheMan has the cutest ass ever, did I mention that? Late evening entertainment, a great singing voice (although he won’t sleep sing for me. *pout*), an awesome cook and one fine behind all in a single package. What more could a girl ask for? Heh. OK, I’m done rambling about my man for now so have a day y’all and remember to make sure your head indexes are securely fastened when you go to sleep. Oh yeah, you can also substitute “Ass Hat” in lyrics if you want to. We find it amusing to sing to the monkey nut drivers out there about their lack of road piloting skills.


Last year at the booniverse: Heh, musta been admiring my honey back then too since there was no updating.

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