Thursday, September 27, 2012

I'm a Doctor Not a Pool Man!

Me: I have the hiccups.
Husband: Ok, here. ::starts tickling me::
Me: ::laughing/hiccupping::
Husband: Boo!
Me: I'm not sure how tickling me is supposed to be helpful.
Husband: Oh wait, you're right. That doesn't do anything.

Spell That One For Me?

Me: Are you going to want chicken enchiladas if I make them?
Husband: Yeah... Does it end in "allottas"? I want some.
Me: No, it doesn't. "Allottas" isn't a word, but I get the point. Good to know, thanks.

This Post is Brought to Us by the Letter H

Husband: Ruby don't touch that. That is where we put the trash. If you're a hoarder, you put it on the floor.
Me: "Lessons For The Organized Baby." She's going to be confused when she finally learns about Oscar the Grouch now.
Husband: Haha hell yeah!

That's When the Whores Start Showing Up

Me: I don't know what to watch on Netflix right now
Husband: How about "Hoarders", you hoarder?
Me: :: thinking::
Husband: Just so you know, I said "hoarDER" before... not "whore".  That last 'der' didn't really come out loud enough I think.
Me: Surprisingly, I already knew what you said. I was trying to pick my words unlike you. I am organized and thrifty. You, on the other hand, are a hoarder as we've already established.
Husband: When did we establish that?
Me: Well, this morning we discussed what to do with you piles and piles of magazines. And when we were moving to Texas we found you held onto bank statements as far back as 2002. And we also found your logs from driving school!
Husband: I was... proud of my accomplishments!
Me: Driving safe and courteously is pride enough.
Husband: Shut up, Shoobs.

Alert the Fashion Police

Husband: I know how you like those cowboy types.
Me: What?
Husband: You like cowboy types.
Me: Why do you think that?
Husband: Because you're wearing a shirt that looks like a table cloth.
Me: No I'm not. It's a checked pattern but not a table cloth. Are you insinuating I'm big like table?
Husband: I didn't say I didn't like it. I just meant that it looks like a table cloth which makes me think of a picnic which makes me think of food. And I like food. And you too!
Me: See... That was your chance to say "no hon, you're not huge like a table. I'm just talking out of my ass."


Husband: Did you see the cake Crystal made?
Me: Yup!
Husband: It looks so good I want to eat it!
Me: Justin... you'd eat a cake that looked like a dirty homeless man's shoe.
Husband: Hahaha! That's probably true.

Friday, September 21, 2012

Love is Kind

Me: I love you
Husband: I love you too!
Me: Even though you're mildly retarded sometimes.
Husband: And even though you're a little bitchy.
Me: Touché.

I Can Wipe My Own Ass

Me: Hey, I just updated my status about the new blog post. Don't forget to share it with your friends.
Husband: Ok, what should I write?
Me: I already write the blog... why don't you handle writing your own status updates.

Like Husband, Like Dog

Husband: Hey, when we get new Texas license plates I'm going to get one that says "Not gay". Like "don't judge me based upon my dogs".

Close Only Counts In Horseshoes & Hand Grenades

:: while finishing a bottle of wine ::
Husband: Shoobs, getting drunk on wine makes you smart. It's a fact.
Me: That is NOT what you read in your magazine the other day.
Husband: Yes it was!
Me: No it was not.
Husband: What did I say then?
Me: Right then you said "getting drunk on wine makes you smart." But what you read the other day was that drinking 8oz of red wine every evening can be healthy for you.
Husband: Oh yeah. Yeah, that's the same thing. Right?

Tuesday, September 4, 2012

It's Legit, You're Dumb

Me: I have a legitimate irrational fear... Wait, that wording is wrong. I legitimately have an irrational fear that when its dark out and I have to let the dogs outside to pee that when I turn the light on there's going to be a homeless person sleeping on our porch furniture.
Husband: That's not irrational. I have a fear that...
Me: See, this is one of those times that I really hate you. Don't poke fun of me and what I just said.
Husband: I'm not making fun of you. You're just dumb.
Me: Thanks.

A Horse is a Horse

Husband: Roo is a horse's ass, but he means well.
Me: What, is that his new nickname?
Husband: Haha! Yeah! Hey horse's ass... get over here!

Hush, No Talkie

Me: You're not even listening to me... I might have to punch you in the mouth.
Husband: What?!? Don't kick me in balls!
Me: I didn't even say that! Geez you don't listen. I don't even know why I use my voice to speak.

You're a Saint, I Forgot

Husband: Do you want to play the trumpet?
Me: No I don't.
Husband: You don't want to play the trumpet?
Me: No.
Husband: ::starts squeezing my boob and making trumpet noises to the tune of 'when the saints go marching in'::
Me: Stop.
Husband: ::continues::
Me: Stop it.
Husband: ::continues while I try to push him away::
Me: Seriously... stop.
Husband: ::playing the high notes on the other boob while I struggle to get away::
Me: Ow! Seriously stop now. You just made me hit my lip.
Husband: You're fine. Did i really hurt you?
Me: Yes, my lip split from when Ruby head butt me and now you just hit it with you wrist.
Husband: When did she do that?
Me: Like 2 days ago. It doesn't matter, every time you play, I get hurt.
Husband: You never want to have fun.
Me: Yup you're right, I never want to have fun or do anything. Why are we even still together?
Husband: I didn't say that.
Me: Yes you did, you said "you never want to have fun".
Husband: Well I didn't mean "never ever". ::displays his hand to be reprimanded::
Me: No, go away.
Husband: Hit me, go ahead.
Me: I don't want to hit you.
Husband: Yes you do.
Me: No i don't. Just stop it. :: dog grumbles :: Both of us in unison: That's right Monkey.
Husband: Monkey knows when you're being unreasonable.
Me: Come back here.
Husband: Why?
Me: Well now I want to hit you.