Whip it! Whip it Good!A bit of background for those who might find the following anecdote confusing...
I am compelled to shout out words, be they short bits of dialog from commercials, invented words, or words that I find interesting or that taste especially good. I've always done this, my brother, Rob, has always done this, my middle daughter does this. It's just something that's done in this family.
True story: Last summer, Rob and I were driving somewhere...Don't know where, doesn't matter...When he yelled out "Arapaho!"
Arapaho? What a fantastic word! Musical, comfortable, and tastes like powdered doughnut! I just had to repeat it, and so I did.
Arapaho, said I.
Arapaho! said Rob.
On and on it went, louder and louder with the Arapaho, the both of us bellowing in unison until we hit a red light, noticed the driver next to us gawking; we abruptly stopped Arapahoing, looked at one another, then burst out laughing.
Jesus, good times...
But as I was saying, I'm a word-shouter, though a private one. I usually save my outbursts for home (in public, I whisper), preferably when Lar's not within earshot. I mean, my husband knows that I'm stranger than fiction, has become accustomed to my odd ways, but I've learned through the years that it's very possible to frighten the daylights out of one's significant other with one's propensity for the bizarre. I respect my husband too much to subject him to my full-out baffling behaviors.
Although I must admit that I do occasionally enjoy causing Lar discomfort, such as repeating "Head on! Apply directly to the forehead" fifty times in a row.
All right, then.
So, here we go...
Thought Lar was out in his workshop/garage/Fight Club gathering place yesterday afternoon, was going about my usual business, doing Lori stuff, stuff that includes Windex and verbal assault of a vacuum cleaner, when, as I was bounding happily up the stairs to retrieve laundry baskets, I began shouting these three words:
Cat o'nine tails.
[Rinsed and repeated until the final twelfth step]
When, what to my wondering eyes should appear, but a miniature fey holding eight tiny cold beers.
And he said, "Need me for something, Lor?"
Well, I was aghast! I also had many questions: Why wasn't Lar at work? Why must I embarrass myself this way? Why is he holding eight tiny cold beers?
But more importantly, why am I injecting a bastardized stanza from "'Twas the Night Before Christmas" into this blog post?
I simply stood at the top of the stairs, me and my laundry baskets, and silently shook my head. Lar nodded once, gave me one of his Gawd, That Woman looks, then went out into his workshop.
Another man, a lesser man, would have said something to the effect of, "What the hell is wrong with you?" or "Hey, I married an imbecile!" but Lar is Lar, and that is why I married him. He makes no mockery of my quirks -- he ignores them. Or, upon hearing his wife shout "Cat o'nine tails," sticks out his butt and says "Need me for something, Lor?"
All of you ladies out there should be so lucky.