Wednesday, March 20, 2013

I Need You to Settle a Dispute for Me......

I’ve been sick.  I had Rico the cold last week.  Then I got on a plane and went to Rochester, NY to go to my brother’s wedding.  Where I got another cold, who I have christened Julian. Julian is a bastard.  I hate him.  In return, he decided to up the ante and turn into a sinus infection.

So, I’ve spent the last few days exhausted, coughing, trying not to swallow because my throat is sore, and laughing my ass off.  That’s right, laughing.  Because when I’m really sick, I am HILARIOUS.  At least I think I’m hilarious.  Because I am.  And It.  Is.  Awesome.  Quinten, my husband, on the other hand, does not think I’m nearly as funny when I’m sick as I think I am.  He keeps telling me that I am not hilarious.  He is so wrong.

But, I said I would put it to a poll.  I am going to put here a transcript of my twitter conversation with my husband over the last two days and let you, faithful readers, tell me how hilarious I am if I am, indeed, as hilarious as I think I am. 

Let’s start with the fact that, on Monday night, when I was lying on the couch drinking tea and trying not to fall asleep in front of How I Met Your Mother, I decided I wanted comfort food.  And not just any comfort food.  I wanted a donut.  I wanted a donut a lot.  So, I started pestering Quinten to go get me one.  Because I was sick and he was not and the able-bodied should always go get the donuts for the not-able-bodied.  After he put me off a number of times, I took my requests public:

Me: Tonight, I am ending every sentence with “Now get me a donut!” I can’t tell if my husband is amused or annoyed.
Quinten: A little of column A and a little of column B.

Then Quinten, after getting a little bit fed up with my persistent donut-whine, offered me one of the cupcakes we had leftover from Iris’s birthday party.  I ate it. But I was not mollified.  As we were lying in bed right next to each other later that night, I tweeted again:

Me: A cupcake is not a donut. And you did not even leave the house to get it for me. So it does not count.
Me: And, little does Quinten know, I’d really rather have chocolate ice cream. So, even if he does get off his ass to get me a donut, he’s screwed.
Quinten: But in the end, I win because more donut for me.
Me: WHAT DONUT???? WHERE??? YOU SAID YOU DIDN’T GET ANY!!!!
 
And then I laughed like a loon for about fifteen minutes because I am so hilarious. 

Quinten responded:

Quinten: Oh please sweet 8 pound, 9 ounce baby Jesus, make sure the Nyquil my wife took takes effect soon.

Then, after I fell asleep, he did this:

Quinten: I’m sorry twitter. My wife is sick and very tired. She thinks she’s hilarious.

In the morning, I responded:

Me: I AM hilarious! I even made myself laugh. That’s how hilarious I am!
Quinten: I’m thinking still really sick.

Quinten is so mean to me.  Because, clearly, I am amazingly hilarious.  You think so, don’t you?  Right?? 

1 comment:

  1. I was eerily soothed by Michael Buble over tea and I knew it was bc I was sick, but it didn't make the soothing any less. So if you think you're funny, then you ARE funny!

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