Wednesday, August 17, 2005

Got Milk?

Marijuana-fed dairy cows. Milk. It does a body...groooooovy, man. (That was dated, I know, but I have no idea what the pot-smoking kids are saying these days. Never was my thang even in my own time, so I'm clueless.) Make up your own joke about cows eating "grass".

And in a seamless segue, I relate the following late-night exchange between my loving husband and me. The setup: He had asked me, at a ridiculously late hour (both of us are having some trouble sleeping of late), to prepare, for him, a snack. One which involved actual cooking. With the actual oven, not the microwave. After staring at him in disbelief for a minute or two, I actually went and did it. (Hey, I haven't been good for much else lately, and I certainly wasn't sleeping, so why not?) But I went with a fair share of grumbling. Time lapsed, and I returned to the bedroom with Alex's midnight repast. After (note that--the AFTER part) I'd served him and gotten myself fully tucked back into the bed, he turns to me with an expectant look on his face.

Alex: "Milk?" (I'm not sure where he thought I was hiding it, or if he was really so deluded as to think that it was reasonable to ask me to get back up and fetch it for him.)

Me: (No words, just the highbeam "I feel a bad time a-comin' " look directed at the milk-requester.)

Alex: "Um...'Milk' my new pet name for you. Have I told you you today how much I love you, Milk?"

Me: (Unable to not laugh) "Milk? How is MILK a term of endearment?"

Alex: "Because it is sweet, wholesome, and pure, and gives life-sustaining nutrition and goodness, the way you nourish me with love..."

Me: (cringing) "OK, stop, stop. Decent save."

He's quick, that one.


  1. Yes. Lame but quick. If he can get me to laugh before I get irritated, he can avoid the Laser Eyes of Death.