Now, if you read my previous post, you'll know I have OCD. I don't like to find myself in situations where control and rules are far beyond my grasp. It really stresses me out. So to ease my anxieties, I have little rituals. I rate things according to a Scale of Awesome or Lame, although that comes with its own special set of problems when I find myself still awake at 4am, worrying about the placement of an item on said Scale.
I also make plans for every conceivable situation so that, for example, if a zombie apocalypse happened, I would be immediately able to recall the instructions I had decided upon and act on them, while everyone around me is flailing wildly, making spontaneous, foolish plans that aren't fooling anybody and being bitten by the drooling undead.
Back to the story. It occurred to me that we'd never discussed, as a couple, the appropriate procedures for a plane crash and subsequent potential cannibalism. At this point, Other Half and I had only been together for about a year and a half, so she'd had plenty time to get used to the mountain of crazy that is Otternator. Still, I did see a look of real worry flicker over her delightful face when I turned to her and had the following conversation:
Other Half: What?
Me: Sweetness and joy of my life.
Other Half: What?
Me: I love you.
Other Half: (peers at me suspiciously) Where's this going?
Me: Say, just as a casual example, we were in a plane crash. There were other survivors but they've been all KAPOW'd *makes hand gestures to indicate general melty-blown-to-smithereens-dismemberment* in the aftermath of the explosion.
Other Half: How did we manage to-
Me: It's not important.
Other Half: ...Okay.
Me: (looking earnest and puppy-eyed) We need to talk about this now. Otherwise, if we do crash on a mountain, we're going to waste valuable time discussing the plan of action. So, plane crash, we are the only survivors, you're kind of weak and/or dying and I might have a chance to live if I feast off your flesh. What's your take on that?
Other Half: WHAT? I don't want you to eat me! Especially not if I'm still alive!
Me: I'd fix that for you. Mountains are covered in nice, big rocks. You'd never even see it coming.
Other Half: This is really disturbing and inappropriate before bedtime. Can I please go back to my crossword?
Me: It'll be a lot more disturbing on that mountain. In the cold. In the dark. And you'll wish you'd talked it through with me.
Other Half: Wasn't here a film about something like this?
Other Half: What happened to those guys?
Me: They ate each other. Nom nom nom. Come on, be a team player! I'll let you eat me!
Other Half gives me such a look of terrified despair that I subside and pet her hair.
Me: Okay, okay. I can eat you, but only when you're dead. Right?
Other Half:...Kay. But you're not allowed to kill me and claim that I was dead already.
Me: You always find my loopholes. That's why I love you. Smarty-pants.
Other Half: I love you too. Please don't kill me, okay?
Me: Sure, sure. (nodding quietly to myself, thinking that if she's weak/dying anyway it's practically a kindness to put her out of her misery. Like a wounded deer. Besides, she's a vegetarian. I bet they taste real good.)
Other Half: I MEAN IT!
Now I never said life with me was easy. It probably isn't. But isn't it better to know what you'd do beforehand? I don't want to approach her, topic unbroached, on that mountain with the plane wreckage burning behind us, wielding a sizeable rock in my hand and grinning innocently. It feels like cheating. And I like playing by the rules.