You rate the following encounter: True? False? There is no way that man is still breathing!
Saturday night on the way to the Stars hockey game (Fight! Fight! Slam him into the glass!), we had the very unfortunate experience of riding the mass transit system (DART here in Dallas) to the game 45 or so minutes away. It wasn’t DART that was the problem. It was the woman in front of us. You see, she had on this Santa-like hat that had the Stars logo and colors. Still, not bad. Kind of cute. But on the side of the hat? THE TAG. The tag on the hat. No matter where I looked all I could see was that damn tag. I turned to Clint and was all crazy eyed whispering, “Why? Why the tag? Does she know? I mean…that is just…NO!” It got to the point where I was about to go mental and scream at the poor woman, “Cut off that damn tag you crazy person!” Every time the DART train bumped or moved or shimmied, that freaking tag would annoyingly bounce up and down and mock me. The woman is lucky that her hat remained on her head and I did not actually rip the tag off and tell her quite forcefully, “No. JUST NO!” (Clint says it is “the thing” to keep a tag on. Maybe, but not when you are in your late 40’s or early 50’s. Then it is just senility gone wrong.) I know. Way over reacting to a tag. But really, it went from a tiny tag to taking over the entire line of my vision I was so annoyed. (See? Crazy. I get that.)
So, after we got to the arena, got our hockey food and drinks, we settled into the game. Only to have Frat Boy 1 and Frat Boy 2 NEVER shut up as they both tried to out-do each other with their “Once, I was so drunk that I…” stories to impress their hyena-ish giggling girlfriends. You see, when you have ADD, it really is hard to tune things like that out. Especially when it is so loud. Normal people? I have no idea how their brain works. Mine, so easily distracted by the loud “I was so drunk…” followed by the high pitched “hheeee heeeee heeeeeee heeeeee” of the girlfriends, I nearly jammed my straw into my own ears to make it stop. (Thankfully I was at a hockey game and could yell things like: “Fight! Fight! Slam him into the glass!”)
Perhaps I made one too many snarky comments throughout the evening. I felt badly for Clint, so I turned to him and said (sincerely), “I’m sorry, baby. You married such a bitch.” (Are you ready for his reply? Here is where you vote on the outcome.)
He said, “No I didn’t. You became one.”
The arena fell silent. All heads turned. Hockey stopped. They flashed his face on the jumbo-tron as the crowd let out a collective gasp. Even the hockey players feared for him.
Okay none of that last part happened, but he did say that.
Is that:
A) True: He has a wish to be tortured, blogged and “be lonely” for a while?
B) False: No man who has been with the same woman for almost 20 years could be so dumb.
C) You think A but fear for his life and therefore must go with B.
It really doesn’t matter as I threw him to the ice and let the hockey players beat the crap out of him.
(Though the above story is in fact true, no husband was killed or injured in the making of this entry. He was however blogged so that his co-workers can mock him for saying such a stupid, stupid thing and I can gain great sympathy. The crazy thing is I love the fool and actually–when the WTF moment wore off– laughed. But still blogged him. There was no way I wasn’t going to blog him.)
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