Continuing in the theme of previous posts about the shocking and funny things that occasionally spew forth from my wife:

• Laurel has started calling the Amazon Cart the “Gift Basket” then mumbling curse words under her breath, after accidentally buying everything that was in the “Cart.” Our Amazon grocery and regular Amazon stuff accounts got linked and she bought a ton of stuff, including a CB for my Jeep, a 20 gallon waste oil container for my shop, and a Ninja Blender.  We had no idea until stuff just started showing up at the house.  It was like Christmas in May!

• We were waiting in line one night outside The Showbox in downtown Seattle, an iconic music venue right by Pike Place Market, and a guy walked by with a big strait ginger beard that would have made any self-respecting viking proud.  My wife and I have a deal:   She keeps her hair long and I don’t grow a beard.  I looked over at her as he walked past and said with a raised eyebrow, “That could be me.”  Without a seconds thought she replied, “It sure could.  You will notice he is walking alone…”  Point, set, and match.

• I was standing in the kitchen doorway, unnoticed by my vegetarian-hippie-raised wife as she was delicately eating a strip of bacon and heard her say: “I don’t even recognize myself anymore.”

•  While out to eat one Saturday night my sweet bride made a flippant comment about it “…being OK to miss the previews…” for the movie we were running a little late to because dinner was taking a while. I gave her the stink eye as I LOVE the previews and she said:  “Thou shalt not glare on date night if you want to sleep with a real girl tonight…” 

• After I made a joke at her expense on the way home from the same movie, she snapped back, “It is mother-fucking date night. You have to be nicer to me.”
  

• One evening after two too many glasses of wine, Stamps-With-Foot got a little sick.  It is the first time in like 10 years that this has happened.  She felt BAD and demanded I call the ambulance.  I said no, while holding her beautiful long hair up and out of the way.  She said: “I am dying.  Why won’t you listen to me?!”  I said: “I am sober and you are not.  You are not dying, but you will feel really crappy tomorrow”  Her reply was: “That seems plausible,”  which she said in a perfectly sober and lucid voice before returning to the continued hugging of the porcelain with nary another word about requiring emergency medical assistance.

• She is hooked on The Get Down, a Netflix TV show.  She came sliding into the living room one Saturday morning as I was drinking coffee and snuggling puppies on the couch.  She dropped into a low martial arts-ish stance and started singing Kung Fu Fighting, made some chops and kicks in the air, executed a jump turn, and then vanished to continue her TV binge watching.  About an hour later she emerged and said as she walked to the kitchen, “I was born in the wrong decade.  I would have been a disco queen in the ’70s.”  No preamble, no justification, no reasoning, just a statement of fact.