In high school I vaguely remember watching a movie of sorts in English class, and having a head full of little paper wads when the lights came back on. Bonehead was “watching” the very same movie directly behind me.
I remember being chased with a spider once within the first month of marriage. I think I might have either broken or spilled something in my attempt to get away from it, so it hasn’t happened again.
Over the years there have been many instances of being picked on, but they come and go. His most recent method? Sweaty workout clothes.
Inside Bonehead lives the heart and comic genius of a 9 year old boy who thinks trying to get me to smell his “sweaty ass pad” is hysterical.
“Here, smell this.”
“Come on, you know you want to.”
In general, I am a pushover. I have a hard time saying no to all but my son. Sometimes I even have a hard time saying no to him.
But I can safely say that a good solid whiff of workout clothes that even if currently dry were at one time dripping wet is not something I desire, nor do I crave that kind of intimacy from my husband. I’m pretty darn certain that in this instance I’m not EVER going to cave and say, “Oh OK big boy bring it on.”
And yet, I do think he’s so desperate for me to smell the darn things I almost got chased with them this afternoon. Or maybe the call to pick on Chas has been dormant for too long and must be made up for.
Either way, I can say one thing with certainty. If I were ever faced with making the decision between being chased with a spider or smelling “the pad”, I would most certainly choose to implode.