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A polite conversation had this morning between my husband and I:
Me, getting home from the gym: I'm starving. Want to go for breakfast?
Geekster, working from home: I just ate breakfast.
Me: Okay. Want to go for some freshly squeezed juice while I eat breakfast?
Geekster: I have a lot of work to do.
Me: But they have a bacon omelette to die for!
Geekster, clearly not getting the point: Can't you just make an omelette here?
Me: We're out of eggs.
Geekster: We're out of eggs?
Me: Well, we're probably out of eggs. I didn't actually look. That's besides the point. And anyway, we don't have bacon. Bacon is essential to a bacon omelette, sir. I was going to go to the store on my way home until I remembered that I'm a red-faced, wild-haired, smelly, nasty-ass gym beast with sweat stains on my bum from that brutal new elliptical routine I tried today. Did you know ellipticals can go backwards? Because they can. It's the devil's work.
Geekster: I knew that, yes.
Me: You're so smart. All those brain cells undoubtedly require extra sustenance. Breakfast?
Geekster: Remember the part about me being busy and not being able to go?
Me, sighing and maybe pouting a little bit: Fine (said in a way that is not indicative of anything being fine). I'll go have a shower and then make something gross and/or terribly boring, like plain yogurt with fruit.
Geekster: I'm pretty sure we have eggs.
Me, on my way to the shower: But there's no bacon. Good god, man! Don't you get it?!
*~*~*~*~*
Me, after my shower: Well, it's been a few minutes. I thought I'd see if you've reconsidered breakfast yet. Or freshly squeezed juice or whatever the hell else will get you to sit across from me at a table while I eat so I don't look like a loser who eats bacon cheese omelettes by herself in a restaurant.
Geekster: Sorry. I really can't.
Me: Fine. (Said in a way that implies nothing is fine and in fact that things are quite un-fine.) It's okay, I'll just go dig up that tub of barf we have in the fridge.. Uh, I mean delicious yogurt.
Geekster: Sigh.
Me: You really should try to make more of an effort with me. Do you even know me anymore? I mean, for all you know, I could be leading a double life and you'd never figure it out because you don't spend any time with me.
Geekster: Uh-huh.
Me: I mean, I've been going to the gym for 10 weeks. But have you ever actually seen me go to the gym? Or leave the gym? No, you have not. All you know is that I drop the kids off at school, go somewhere for a couple of hours and then come back home, hot and sweaty. For all you know, I'm having a torrid affair with a guy who digs chubby girls in yoga pants. I could have a mistress-- or whatever the boy version is of that word. What's that called? A mister?
Geekster: Probably a "dead man".
Me: No, I'm sure it has a more exotic name to match the exotic guy I could be having an affair with. Maybe he's called "Pedro."
Geekster, not even looking up from the screen: Pedro?
Me: That's right: Pedro, my Latin mister. Or "Latin lover" because that sounds better. For all you know, I'm losing weight because I'm having so much extramarital sex. You can't have sex for an hour or so every morning and not lose weight. But you'll never know because you can't be bothered to have an omelette with me this morning.
Geekster: Right.
Me: Your loss. I'll text Pedro and see if he wants to go. Pedro loves to have breakfast with me. We have it after sex all the time. And he's independently wealthy so he doesn't have stupid work getting in the way.
Geekster: Okay, that's good. Thank him for me when you see him. You look amazing.
Me, sulking and heading to the fridge: I hate when you win.
Geekster: Want me to make you a coffee to go with your yogourt?
Me: Fine. (In a way that is more like fine than the last few times I used it.)
I love my husband even though he never did go for breakfast this morning and doesn't care if I'm slapping thighs with Pedro. It takes a special man to