- H.H.B. - "(B)tw, I'm pretty sure I would kick [husband's name omitted to protect the innocent] in the junk if he laughed at me like that" (emphasis added).
- The Space Monkey - "H.H.B.... it has crossed my mind. But then, there was the whole drugged thing... ;)"
- Defense Against the Language Arts teacher - "This blog post is an excellent example of why it's a good thing that you're married to him and not me. XD (I would probably have punched him in the nose.)"
- Mom - "He is his father's son....lol. He's 66 and just starting to mature."
To think, I compared that woman to Iron Man....
Having, of course, read the posts, I can see where this righteous indignation is coming from. I mean, I laughed at my wife while she was crying! Who does that?!
It gives me no joy to have to answer my wife's post with cold, unfeeling truth. Nevertheless, the junk must be defended.
You see, as the Oracle of Truth™, I understand that there are two aspects to the truth in a story: the facts and point of view. The Space Monkey's post gave you the facts and her point of view.
I shall impart greater perspective.
My wife—whom I love—tells you that I laughed while she cried. What she does not tell you is that she has two different types of crying.
By way of example, my nephew Primus—whom I love—has two different types of crying. When he chases—despite our urgent warnings—after The Minion Underfoot—who totally planned this—and runs face first into the corner of our dining room table, these tears elicit genuine concern on my part.
Behold the awful face of evil.
And this despite the fact that I witnessed this same nephew, who I have elsewhere indicated is a poltergeist, terrorizing the cat by climbing up on to our couch and trying urgently to get at him while The Minion cowered behind the column of his cat condo.
So I'm not heartless.
But when the same nephew cries and screams for his mommy at the end of the day because he can't possibly sleep without his mommy being in the same [Space Monkey]ing ZIP code even though she hasn't been around for nine hours and he'd been fine yet I'm still having the decency not to use the line "Do I need to give you a reason to cry?"...darkness enters my heart.
True story: he was a romance novelist until he babysat his nephew.
As with the Dark Nephew of Wonders, so also with the Space Monkey. She has two different types of crying.
There is one type of crying that I wouldn't laugh at. When she cries because her boss would be spit back up by a volcano if we threw him in, I hold her and comfort her and offer to kneecap him for her.
On the other hand there's a whiny cry she does that borders on the satirical and I literally cannot keep from laughing. It is simply adorable. If I could record it for you and play it for you, you would laugh too.
Not entirely relevant, but the point is valid.
To give you an idea of the effect, get some friends together and say in a high-pitched voice like you're crying the following words: "The dog won't stop licking me-he-he-heeee! STOP LAUGHING!" If they laugh, my point stands.
And if they don't, you have bad friends.
I'm just saying.
They probably talk about you behind your back.
As to the encounter that night, she also got the order a little mixed up in her recollections. I took the dog out for a walk and then came back inside. When I went upstairs, he ran up ahead of me and jumped on the bed. I wasn't actually laughing yet although the cuteness had already begun. I think there may have been some whining about me turning the desk lamp—not the overhead—on as well.
This latter would not have been a problem if she had turned the desk lamp on for me so I would not fall and break my pancreas while trying to get into bed.
It's dangerous navigating our bedroom in the dark.
Anyway, she was annoyed about the dog being in the bed. I didn't rebuke him for this. Then the dog started licking her weenus and she started whining harder as previously demonstrated.
This is not when I fell on the floor laughing. It was not until a minute or two later when the dog started licking my side of the bed and I rebuked him.
The Space Monkey shot me such a glare that I literally laughed so hard I fell on the floor.
For those who need instructions.
Now I will confess that sometimes the line between these two types of crying on her part are dangerously blurry. For instance there was the time I hid in our hallway bathroom in the dark waiting to jump out at her. I thought for sure that she knew I was there because she was taking her time and had her cellphone flashlight out.
I was wrong.
I jumped out at her and she collapsed into a fetal position crying.
Did I forget the part where she had cookies?
Naturally I instinctively went down to my knees and hugged her trying to comfort her because I didn't actually want to scare my wife to death. Nevertheless her over-the-top reaction did make it a touch hard not to laugh.
Then there was last night when I touched a string to her forehead while she slept and she woke up freaking out that the spider she didn't kill the other day that is probably laying eggs behind our bed even as I type was crawling on her face. Once again I hugged her and comforted her and struggled not to laugh.
But who wouldn't?
I will also remind you, gentle reader, that she once threw me down so that I landed on my back on the arm rest of an operator chair foreshadowing a life spent with back agony and proceeded to laugh.
But somehow I'm the bad guy.
As to the driving, it wouldn't be so hard if she would just drive as well as I do.
I'm just saying.