I'm Always Right...or...Not....

Jeremy and I were on our bed. He was looking at mustang parts magazines and writing down what he needed, and I was reading a book.

He turned to me and mentioned something about the parts, and I gave him "the look." You know, the one where your eyes shut half way and then you blink slowly, and let the glaze slide across your retinas...Yeah, that was me.

It's not that I'm not supportive. I think it's GREAT that Jeremy has a hobby. My problem is that my brain travels down the financial choo-choo train tracks and no matter how many times you switch the tracks, the end result is the same, with you ending up at the El Mucho Money-O station.

Anyway...

Jeremy scrunched up his face at my obvious unenthusiasm and said,

"You know, you're going to be the one to put this car together when I end up being an invalint."

"A what??"

I unsuccessfully covered up my snort of laughter.

"Do you mean, "invalid"?"

He gave me the scrunched up face again, this time with a hint of hurt pride.

I took the easy hit. I couldn't help myself.

"So, if you are an invalint, does that mean you were in the dryer too long?? Ha ha ha!"

He then took it upon himself to ignore me.

I wandered into the bathroom, my bladder not being able to contain my fits of hysteria, and I repented slightly.

On the way back to bed, I said, in as nice a tone as possible,

"Hey, think of the word as In Valid. It's easier to remember that way."

I then gave him a winning smile, but he was still ignoring me, no doubt fantasizing about the nice long train trip his ambitious hobby was traveling on. Chugga Chugga Cha-CHING!

The problem with knowing a lot about something is that you tend to think you are an authority on every thing else.

I tend to get this way, especially when I am tired.

So, at dinner the other day, I was crabbily forking my dinner to pieces, and Jeremy was trying to be cheerful to make up for the storms surrounding my side of the kitchen table.

We had the radio on, tuned to the classical station.

Jeremy cocked his head as he listened. I swear he is part bird.

"Hey, I think this is the 1812 Overture."

I stabbed my food viciously, and spat (think volcanic ash),

"No, it's not."

He paused for a moment, genuinely confused.

"Really? Are you sure??"

I felt like flinging my chicken at him.

"I don't know what it is, but it's not the 1812 Overture."

"Okay," he replied.

I glared at his happy sunshinyness, and decided to make his wrongness official.

I got up, and looked up the stations current playlist.

*scroll scroll scroll*

"5:45pm: 1812 Overture."

"Fine!" I yelled. "It's the 1812 Overture!"

Jeremy turned around, with a startled look on his face.

"I'm going to bed..."

I seriously don't know why I picked this fight with Jeremy. He has far more experience with music than I do, having played in several orchestras.

Poor Jeremy. I'm sure he is ever-hopeful that some day he will cease to be married to a train wreck, and get his wife back.

I hope so too.