Yesterday, I sang "I wrote a blog and I liked it" (to the tune of "I Kissed A Girl") at Other Half who looked horrified at my exuberant interpretive dance, which involved no small amount of crotch-thrusting. It was quite elaborate and went on for several verses. Eventually, looking somewhat afraid, she left the room, leaving me free to curl up with the book I'm supposed to be reading for my book group. I always end up leaving these things to the last minute and end up struggling to find the hours needed. I was rather engrossed in the book when, after some time, Other Half entered and said the following to me:
Other Half: Oh my god. I hate one of my friends that I don't talk to.
I put down my book immediately because it was clear to me that a) you don't hear a sentence like that every day and b) if I focus I can memorise this entire conversation for blogging purposes and the entertainment of people across the world. That's right, you international guys. I'm talking to you. Especially whoever that one person is in Vietnam who checks the blog every day. You are my favourite. Vietnam for the win, as I believe the kids say.
Other Half: (continuing) I mean, she's okay but she's a smiler.
Me: (knowingly) Mmm.
Other Half: (resentfully) Yeah, and you know how we feel about that.
Me: Um...she's a dick?
Other Half: Exactly. No one should smile all the time. It's unnatural.
At this point I was distracted by wondering how I could wriggle this into a post and how much smiling is considered overkill, so I missed a lot of what she said after that. I tried not to think about it too much in case my OCD noticed, pricked up its little ears and came bounding over to see what all the fuss was about, because then I'd spend the next few hours worrying about my own levels of smiling.
Later that same day, as we were getting the bus to our new flat last night, I began a discussion with an unusual statement of my own (yeah, I can play this game too).
Me: You know, I've never asked anyone in for coffee.
Other Half: What do you mean?
Me: Like, you know how Eddie Izzard does that whole joke about how asking someone in for coffee is the internationally recognised sign for "let's have sex"?
Other Half: Coffee equals penetration?
Me: Yep. I never did that. Fact.
Other Half: Did you ask them if they wanted to come see your kittens?
Me: I...may have done.
Other Half looks at me with a mixture of amusement and jealousy.
Me: (shrugging) Girls like kittens! And then it's just a short step from "aww, look how cute that kitten is" to "well, I suppose I could stay for a bit" and then bam! Score. I'm sneaky. Like a ninja.
Other Half: That's real subtle.
Me: You know it, bro.
Other Half: Wait a minute... didn't you do that to me? You did! You fucker!
Me: It's a tried and tested method. If it ain't broke...
Other Half: I feel so dirty!
Me: (smirking) Mmhmm.
Other Half: Don't blog about this.
Other Half: (pinches nose and sighs) You're going to blog about this, aren't you?
The moral of the story is threefold; firstly, if you don't want me to blog about things, don't make them so entertaining, secondly, never trust me, and thirdly get some kittens. You won't be able to move for eligible ladies. I promise.