Posts Tagged ‘conversations’

I couldn’t sleep last night, so in the middle of the night, I got up and cut myself bangs. As one does. This conversation happened when I crawled back into bed.

Me: “HUFF”

Lobsterface: “What’s wrong, love?”

Me: “I just cut myself bangs and I think it was a mistake.”

Lobsterface: “Can I see?” pulls out cell phone and turns on the flashlight feature because that’s easier than actually turning on the lamp. Apparently.

Me: “You could turn on the lamp, you know.”

Lobsterface: peers at me, all squinty like, as if I’m a beetle on a pin “…meh, I’ll still make out with you.” turns off flashlight, rolls over, goes to sleep.


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Sister: You know, my ex and I had some good times.

Me: You and your ex had the most awkward relationship in the history of ever. Hitler had less awkward interactions with Jewish people than you had with your ex.

Lobsterface: (yelling from the other room) THAT IS THE WORST THING YOU HAVE EVER SAID!


Mom: Well, I don’t think it was very nice, but it’s definitely not the worst thing you’ve ever said to your sister.

Me: Dude, he wasn’t talking about how mean I was being, he was talking about how insensitive I am about the Holocaust.

Mom: Oh.

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Me: Whatcha thinkin’ ’bout?

Lobsterface: I think, if I had a superpower, I’d like to have a hammer like Mjolnir, and be able to smash things with it like Thor, so that cars would fly across the parking lot and smash into buildings and I’d be able to call down lightening to strike anybody I was mad at all the time. Which would happen a lot. I’m generally angry at lots of people.

Me: I know.

Long pause…

Me: I think I’d like to be Corgneto.

Lobsterface: Corgneto?

Me: Yes. Like Magneto from X-Men, only with corgis. They would come to me, thousands and thousands of them, and they would be devoted to me. They would love me so much. They would have no choice, because I would be Corgneto.

Lobsterface: You may have a problem.

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Me ( just back from a run, looking in mirror): “What is it about this outfit that makes weird, old men bellow out of the windows of their cars at me?”

Lobsterface (absently, sitting in front of his computer, probably blogging about werwolves): “It’s your boobs”

Me (examining my not-all-that-low-cut tank top and sports bra combo): “You can’t even see them! They’re all squished down and there’s not even any cleavage.”

Lobsterface (swiveling around and peering at me like a beetle on a pin): “Sorry, honey. You have a lot of boob.”


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