In my last post I wrote about the gem of a sign that my cheeky little Sauerkraut found in a gift shop which had ‘beware of wife’ written on it. Given that I am not a bitchy nasty wife (right, Sauerkraut?), I renamed the sign to ‘beware of wife’s mind’ because, well, you know, my mind. It’s not exactly normal. It processes things differently. It is strange and often foolish. I even gave examples of some of the conversations I have had with Sauerkraut to back up my claim.
My blogging twinsie, Linda, over at halfathousandmiles wrote the following comment after reading my ‘beware of wife’ post, “Y’all sound like us! Hubby is always patient, but occasionally he thinks HE’s funny. But he’s really, really not”. This got me thinking. Sauerkraut occasionally thinks he’s funny, too. When he thinks he is funny, it often backfires on him and it usually ends up
pissing peeving me off. He’s the funniest when he’s not trying to be funny. Clear as mud? Yep, I thought so. What I am really trying to say is that when he thinks he is funny, he is trying too hard and it always ends up with me being annoyed about something.
So, if I was to get a sign for Sauerkraut, it definitely wouldn’t be ‘beware of husband’ simply because there is nothing to fear with that man. He really is a saint for putting up with me and my shenanigans. But, there is one thing that Sauerkraut does suffer from on occasion and, because he does, he, too, should have his own warning sign. I think his sign should go something like this: ‘beware of husband’s foot in mouth disease’.
Clever, huh? And right now, if you are a female reading this post, you are nodding in agreement and proclaiming to the high heavens, ‘my gawd, Linda, you are a freakin’ genius!’ Why? Because we have all been on the receiving end of our significant other’s foot in mouth disease. And, more often than not, it ends up annoying the living daylights out of us. Sometimes it even ends up in a full blown argument but that must be left for a whole other post.
Here are a few examples of my suffering at the hands of Sauerkraut’s foot in mouth disease.
Sauerkraut: Do you think that all of the female players on our Rugby 7s Olympic team are lesbians?
Sauerkraut: At least half of them anyway?
Me: Where is this coming from?
Sauerkraut: I don’t know. I was just wondering.
Me: No, you’re basing your query on some stupid misconception and dumb stereotype you have about lesbians.
Sauerkraut: Maybe. Can’t a guy wonder?
Me: Look, if they would have had rugby when I went to high school, I would have played. I think rugby’s great. So by your reasoning, if I would have played rugby, you would have assumed that I was a lesbian and we would never have gotten together.
Sauerkraut: Well, you do have the haircut.
Me: * evil death stare *
Me: The Canadian women Olympics’ Team is really kicking ass in Rio.
Sauerkraut: Huh, go figure.
Me: Go figure what?
Sauerkraut: That the women are outshining the men.
Me: What the hell do you mean by that?
Sauerkraut: Maybe the competition for the men is stronger than it is for the women.
Me: For the love of God and all things holy! (which really was code for ‘you misogynistic asshole’. Sorry God but you ought to know by now how my mind works, right?)
Example # 3
Sauerkraut: Check this out.
Me: What are you doing?
Sauerkraut: Kicking off the camp dance party.
Me: What is that supposed to be?
Sauerkraut: The Porch Walk. Think it’ll catch on?
Me: Hmmmm. It looks a lot like ‘The Moon Walk’.
Sauerkraut: It’s not even close. The Moon Walk is something Michael Jackson created and he wasn’t even on the moon when he created it. This is The Porch Walk and I’ve created it while I am actually on the porch. See the difference?
Me: No offence but Michael Jackson was really good at it.
Sauerkraut: You think Michael Jackson was perfect when he did his first Moon Walk? No sirrrreeeee. Michael Jackson practised and practised and practised. He didn’t show it to the world until it was perfect. That’s what I’m gonna do because practise makes perfect.
Me: I think you’ve been with me too long.
Sauerkraut: Exactly. See what it’s like trying to have a conversation with you?
Me: Just what are you saying? That it’s exhausting trying to have a conversation with me? Really? Is that what you think? Are you trying to teach me a lesson?
Sauerkraut: Well, that escalated quickly.
Sauerkraut: My great-grandfather had twenty-four children.
Sauerkraut: Yep. He had twelve kids with his first wife. They had a fifteen year old neighbour’s girl helping care for all those kids. Then his wife died. Then my great-grandfather married the fifteen year old girl and they had twelve children. Imagine having twenty-four children!
Me: That’s insane.
Sauerkraut: It was LOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOVE. Smoochie, smoochie.
Me: No. Your great-grandfather was a pervert.
Now, I know exactly what you’re thinking. You’re thinking, “Sauerkraut, you are a male chauvinistic homophobic
pig asshole bad man and you are so lucky to be married to such a sweet, lovable and understanding woman like Linda. Tsk, tsk tsk. What are we going to do with you?” But you would be wrong. You see, Sauerkraut being a male chauvinistic homophobic pig asshole bad man couldn’t be further from the truth. BUT you are right about him being married to such a sweet, lovable and understanding woman like myself. So, one out of two isn’t bad. Don’t be so hard on yourself for only getting half of your thought processes right. Believe me, I know how you’re feeling. I miss half of my thought processes every.single.day. You get used to it after awhile and then it doesn’t bother you nearly as much.
Sauerkraut is one of the most open-minded, kindhearted men I know. But he does like to get my Irish up by saying the things he knows will push my feminist buttons the quickest. Nothing gets my knickers in a knot faster than someone being a close-minded butt-hole and, when those knickers are knot twisting, I fall for his version of funny ha-ha humour quicker than you can say “May you run out of toilet paper when you need it most.”
And every time I do, he just grins. Like the Cheshire cat. Grinning from ear to ear. Until his cheeks hurt. Until I’ve huffed and puffed till I can’t possible huff and puff anymore.
And that, my dear cabbage patchsters, is how Sauerkraut and I roll. Ain’t love grand?