Saturday, November 12, 2005

"The Color Fig."

This afternoon I found myself feeling like I was regaining consciousness during what must have been a conversation with my wife.

I hate that feeling.

All of a sudden I realize that she’s talking and I have no idea what the hell she’s talking about.

In my head all I hear is the voice of Charlie Brown's teacher.

I glanced at my watch and realize this “conversation” started about fifteen minutes ago.

What could she be talking about for fifteen minutes?

Guys, we can finish a conversation is about 30 seconds. If we want to say anything else to each other after that we just shrug our shoulders, grunt and nod.

Men can have a six hour conversation without uttering a sound.

Fifteen minutes?

We're near comatose in fifteen minutes.

Thank god I’m a veteran.

After 27 years of marriage I can fake listening for fifteen minutes without even trying.

Hell, I don’t even know I’m doing it. I’m on automatic pilot. It’s survival instinct kicking in.

“What are you doing?”



“Um.... listening to you?”


“Uh huh.”

“What did I say?”

“Come on honey you said a ton of stuff.”

“Name one thing.”

“How can I name it? You don’t name stuff you listen to.”

“Tell me what we were talking about.”

(Tell me what “we” were talking about? I don’t remember my lips moving.)

“You know…stuff… about the house…and stuff…..about colors…and stuff….”

“Colors and stuff?”

“Well I was going to talk about colors…. but I hadn’t spoken up yet… I was waiting for you to finish talking.”

“You have no idea what I was talking about do you?”

“Yes I do. Of course I do. I heard everything you said.” (It was hypnotic it put me into a trance.)

“Then tell me one, just one thing I was talking about.”

“Was it figs?”


“Yes I distinctly heard you say something about figs.”


“You were talking about the color fig for the new couches.”


“Of course there is. If there wasn’t then what color would a fig be?”


“Pumpkin, I’m not “Chewbaccaing” you, I thought I heard you say something about the couches being fig colored.”

“Don’t call me pumpkin. Cute nicknames won’t get you out of this.”

(It wasn’t a cute nickname. I said it because you look like a Jack O Lantern when you’re pissed.)

“I SAID… We need to make sure the new couches FIT!!!

“That’s it!!!! That’s what you said. I knew I’d get it. I told you I was listening.”


“Fig, fit, that’s pretty close you gotta admit that.”

“You really are a special kind of idiot aren’t you?”

“Yes pumpkin.”