Thursday, April 2, 2009

Tell him he's being mean to me.

“Brian,” (I said, during an evening walk back from the lake, watching Bo leap like a jackrabbit and scan the woods for something to chase), “what would it take for you to consider having a baby sooner than three years?”

“Nothing.” He butt-bumped me into a ditch by the road. “Nothing could possibly happen to make me think about it.”

I climbed out of the ditch and resumed walking beside him, pausing for a moment before trying a new tactic. As we reached the driveway, I put my arm around his neck like a buddy. “Listen, Brian,” I began in my talk-shop voice, “you’ve got ten months before this kid is born. You can do anything you want while I relax on the couch! Ten months! Think about the possibilities.”

He bent over and licked my face, getting a good dig in at my nostril.

Wiping away the spit with nary a grimace, I continued. “You want to go to Alaska? You got it! Be home in time for whitetail season? Sure! I promise I won’t say anything when you leave the house.” He paused – thoughtfully – then bent over to administer saliva from chin to forehead.

I tried one more time – "You can even go on a combo goat and sheep hunt –" Liiiiiick.

I pushed myself away. “Fine,” I responded with a scowl. "Just stop licking me. That's disgusting."

Then, quietly, I looked up at him with my irresistible, rejected little-girl face. “I just love you so much, Brian. I just don't want to wait anymore to have your babies.”

“No babies!” He yelled. “No babies yet. For crying out loud! You’re twenty-one.”

“I’ll be twenty-two when the baby’s born – “ Another lick. Fine. Two could play at that game.

1 comment:

  1. Somehow I lost track of the initial subject matter (I think it was about having babies or something?)and was uncomfortably distracted. I feel like I need to go wash my face for some reason...Uhh