This week, The Boy has been at camp, so The Mister and I have been having a lot more time together. And since The Boy isn't here to listen in and use every comment against me at a later date overhear our conversations, I've removed the brain-to-mouth filters that every Mom uses when the kids are around.
The Mister and I have been playing some verbal "ping pong" this week, and the witty, sarcastic and funny remarks have been flying. I am so proud to say hate to admit that I am usually on the winning end of any verbal battle of wits in my home.
Just the other day, The Mister was whining stating his concern about my lack of motivation in the completion of domestic chores (you know, the kind of chores that a human being must have a vagina to complete - like dishes and sweeping and tidying up, that kind of thing). The Mister then said that he should "just get rid of me".
My response? "Go ahead, get rid of me, I'll survive." But NO! When he used the phrase 'get rid of me', he meant it in the organized crime, hit man kinda way - he was threatening to kill me! Shame on him! Foolishly, I assumed he was kidding - I learned later that darker forces were at work.
Apparently, Eddy, the cat, was listening intently to this conversation, and somehow the two of them worked out a plan to "off" me.
Here's a picture of Eddy's cousin, Frankie, the "Feline Enforcer", a known organized crime kingpin.
Last night, the plan was scheduled to be carried out. Obviously, since I am typing this, they were not successful in snuffing out the glorious light that is me.
I decided that I wanted a dish of ice cream with caramel syrup. Since we're trailer trash, of course we have a chest freezer IN OUR LIVING ROOM (oh, it's really attractive, let me tell you).
The living room floor was an obstacle course; remember, I am still in the middle of my self-imposed work stoppage, so I've ignored clutter on the floor. The Mister had purchased a new floor fan for the man cave the other day, and left the box in the middle of the living room floor.
Just as I was getting ready to step near the box, the cat sprung into action, and got tangled up in my feet. In my attempt to avoid squashing Eddy, the traitor-cat, I then stepped ON the fan box, which slid across the carpet. I shifted my weight in an attempt to avoid inducing a pulled groin muscle during an awkward completion of a split.
Briefly standing like Pat Morita in the one legged Crane stance made famous in the first Karate Kid movie, I lost my balance and began to experience a Wile E. Coyote slow-motion, falling to one's death scene. Ever mindful of the location of the cat as well as the flatscreen TV, I contorted my falling body in such a way to save these from my hurtling form.
As I was falling to the floor in a very unladylike fashion, such a string of foul language escaped from my lips that I am sure that sailors on shore leave were openly blushing. I think I also screamed a little, especially when my left knee made impact with the floor.
To be frank, that sucker hurt like a mo fo.
As I looked to my right, I saw Eddy move her paw in a motion that could only be described as a finger snap, and I know I heard her say "damn" under her breath.
I had survived their first attempt to kill me. I may not be so lucky next time.
I am so happy that The Boy is coming home at 6pm - he can act as my witness to the authorities, lest I have to sleep with one eye open, wondering when The Mister and the nefarious cat will once again attempt to end my life.
I've had my leg up on a chair, and applied a bag of frozen green beans to my knee. I'm sure I'll be sporting a dandy bruise. I am lucky to be able to write this cautionary tale to all of you smart-mouthed wives out there - one day too, your husband may crack under the pressure of your witty banter, and try to recruit house pets to knock you off.
As they used to say at the end of roll call during every episode of Hill Street Blues, "Let's be careful out there."