The other day we’re all at home and Clark realizes Pumpkin needs a diaper change while we’re having the usual “What do ya wanna do for dinner? I don’t know. What do you wanna do?” conversation. It abruptly diverts to the following:
Husband: We need a servant. Yep, and we’ll call him Phipps. Phipps, would you change this diaper? Phipps, what’s for dinner tonight?
Me: Uh, the good ones come from England and correct me if I’m wrong, but I’m pretty sure they ALL come with names of their own.
Husband: Nah, he’ll be Phipps. Phipps, these floors are a mess. When are you going to mop again?
Me: Sorry buddy, I don’t think so. Wait, maybe if we reach the Jetsons era. Ya know, and we have a robot like Rosie? We could totally name that one Phipps while he’s still in production.
Husband: Okay. I guess.
Then tonight in the grocery store, this happens. I should preface this by saying that I seem to attract all the talkers and gabbers in our local Kroger Marketplace. There’s plenty of room and I don’t make eye contact, but somehow I’m screaming, “Talk to me! I’m your new best friend!” Yeah. So here goes.
I’m intensely focused in the rice/beans/soup aisle. Hamburger Helper and Rice-A-Roni are on sale 10 for $10. Am I arguing the merits of the variations of hamburger taco cheesy lasagna beefy mac ‘n’ cheese pasta dinners? Maybe. I continue down the aisle and stop to grab some minute rice near a little old man stocking the shelves. He’s been glancing at me, but whatever.
Kroger man: Are you talking to yourself?
Me: (in a neutral, matter-of-fact tone) Yes.
Kroger man: You really shouldn’t do that. Ya know they put people away for doing stuff like that, right?
Me: Oh, right. (polite chuckle)
As Clark said when I retold him the saga, “Thanks! That’s good to know. I wasn’t aware.” People make me laugh. Most of the time anyway.