The Sun Is Out to Get Me…Hip-Hip-Hip-Hooray!

The Boffin and I just dropped off The Sprog at Sunday school and were driving to the grocery store eastbound on one of the characteristically straight main roads that are so common in the grid system that connects Chicagoland. I was in the passenger seat, and the sun’s position was such that its rays decided that it would be fun to bore a hole into my temple. All I wanted to do was get some food, and the sun wants to play Space Invaders with my brain.

As I flipped the visor over, I opined in my genteel way about how the sun is harsher here in the Midwest as opposed to the Northeast. I believe I said something along the lines of, “The sun’s an asshole!”

This when The Boffin explained to me that the sun is no different here. We aren’t driving on roads that bend and twist as much. I am sitting in the same position for a longer period, therefore the sun has more of an opportunity to fry my cranium.

But I maintain since the sun takes advantage of the grid system and my vulnerablity, at the very least, it acts like a five-year-old with a magnifying glass, and I am a mere ant.

See.  It is just matter of time before it starts using me for target practice.  Dick.  "Giant prominence on the sun erupted" by NASA/SDO/AIA/Goddard Space Flight Center
See. It is just matter of time before it starts using me for target practice. “Giant prominence on the sun erupted” by NASA/SDO/AIA/Goddard Space Flight Center

Regardless, Chicagoland, the grid system is overrated. A few fluctuations in the roads can decrease head trauma. Or spouses like The Boffin from rants like mine.

He’s No Fun.

So The Boffin was giving his face a once over with a razor before his flight to Houston yesterday. I was hovering just outside the bathroom, and, given how easily my propensity is toward boredom, I decided to stretch a Pilates band over my nose and mouth and make kazoo noises.  Naturally, it had to ignite another one of our mock arguments.

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The Boffin exclaimed, “Would you stop trying to kill yourself?!?”

Me: “WHAT!? What am I doing?”

Really, this is on the milder end of my self amusement spectrum.

The Boffin: “You are like Roger Rabbit with the tool kit when he was sticking the file in his ear.”

Me: “You don’t understand.”

The Boffin: “What do you mean I don’t understand!?!? I just gave an analogy that describes your behavior perfectly!”

Me: “But you don’t get it at a deeper level!”

The Boffin: “Just because I don’t understand how tornadoes are formed exactly doesn’t mean I don’t know what do when the alarms go off!”

But can’t he chase the tornadoes sometimes to see what they feel like?

The Boffin Needs Another Name

“I need to talk to you.”

“What is it?”

“If I come up with ideas and it’s your job to carry them out, what are you?”

“Husband?”

“No, a henchman.”

The Boffin is like Odd Job from Goldfinger only more eloquent, worse dress sense, worse aim, and less Asian.
The Boffin is like Odd Job from Goldfinger only more eloquent, worse dress sense, worse aim, and less Asian.

The Boffin’s head goes into his hands.

“If that’s the case, you need a henchman uniform.  We need to replace your wardrobe with clothes that are all the same.”

“But I wear polo shirts and khakis all the time.”

“They have to be the same color.  It’s like in the movies.”

“So you want to live your life like in the movies.”

“You don’t understand.”

I get a stare of belief, yet disbelief.  After almost 14 years of marriage, I am immune to that look.

“You also need a new name.  The Boffin is not a good henchman name.”

“Well, why don’t you post about it on the blog and ask people to give me a new name?”

“I will!”

“I also only want to be a part-time henchman because you are not evil all the time.”

“You mean like call you on the cell phone when I need you to carry out my plans?”

“Yeah.”

“It would save me money on benefits.”

“Do you want me to get you a nuclear missile?”

“No, just build me a shark pond.”

**********

So, my dear readers, what would be a good henchman name for The Boffin?

Who Has More Intelligence?

The Boffin came running up the stairs, swung open the door to the guest room, and bellowed out the following question:

“Are you moving furniture?”

Me (knowing no one else was in there):  “Are you talking to the Roomba?”

The Boffin:  “You talk to Lola.”

Me:  “Point taken.”

The Boffin:  “Mine has more intelligence.”

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We had to keep a dead parsley plant in the house as a decoy to keep her away from the other plants. You be the judge.

This is What I Endure

The Boffin has taken up archery again, so when he gets into something, he has to explains what he does for hours on end.

This morning’s conversation revolved around his shoulder about how it doesn’t hurt when he draws his bow, but it does hurt when he pulls his phone from the case on his belt.  After his extensive demonstration of his point, I exclaimed, “OK, Robin Hood!”

“I’m not Robin Hood!”

“Well, what other English archers are there?”

Jeffrey!

“Just go to work.  Just go.  I want you to go to work.  I am looking forward to you going to work.  Just leave.  Get out.”

Wazzock:  See Jeffrey Archer  "Jeffrey Archer @ Oslo bokfestival 2012 2" by Bjørn Erik Pedersen - Own work. Licensed under CC BY 3.0 via Wikimedia Commons
Wazzock:  See Jeffrey Archer.   “Jeffrey Archer @ Oslo bokfestival 2012 2” by Bjørn Erik Pedersen – Own work. Licensed under CC BY 3.0 via Wikimedia Commons