The Infinite Variety of the Goofus Manus
The Wife, sitting on the couch and reading an article from The New York Times: “I LOVE when film critics use euphemisms!”
Me, lying on the floor: “Like ’splickety-splockety’?”
The Wife, softly: “Do you know what an ‘euphemism’ is?”
Me, phoning it in: “Like when they put a dog down?”
The Wife, sarcastically: “Yeah. That’s it.”
Me, triumphantly: “Third times the charm.”
The Wife, sweetly: “You only guessed twice; AND, might I add, incorrectly both times. Listen. ‘Barbara Stanwyck never made heavy weather of it.’ Isn’t that fantastic?”
Me, coldly: “That is perhaps the most fan-fucking-tastic thing I’ve EVER heard. Read it again. This time with a French accent. Begin.”
The Wife, returning to her article: “What happened to the man I married?”
Me, still on the floor staring at the carpet fibers: “Ironically, he was euthanized in the most splickety-splockety way imaginable.”