Coffee cups (no sharing at our house)

“Jerry, are you drinking coffee from my cup?”

“Oh, is this your cup?”

“Yes, all of the Polish pottery coffee cups are mine and you’re drinking out of one. I would let you drink out of it except those cups are very expensive and if something should happen to one of them while in your possession, I’d have a hard time forgiving you.”

“Oh. Well you know what? I have coffee cups I don’t want you drinking out of. I’m going to put all my coffee cups that I bought at Disneyland in this cupboard right here. These are my coffee cups and this is my cupboard.”

“Oh, alright. You can drink out of my Polish pottery cups, and…no, on second thought I can’t risk it. Sorry. My cups are off-limits. I’m afraid you’ll take one to your shop and then drop a wrench or very heavy drill bit on it.”

“Don’t let me catch you drinking out of my coffee cups, Bronwyn, because this is the Jerry cupboard. And while I’m at it, the cupboard next to it is mine too and the top shelf in the refrigerator is mine. Oh, and the drawer where we keep lunch meat, that’s mine.”

“In that case, Jerry, this cupboard over here is mine. It has all my Polish pottery cups and while I’m at it, the third shelf in the refrigerator is mine. I don’t want to see your black olives or your Sting ‘n Linger salsa on my shelf.”

“Done.”

“Done.”

 

 

Garage (the place where marriage disputes begin)

“Bronwyn, you parked on my side of the garage again. I can’t get into my car unless I flatten my body down to two-inches in width and that’s not going to happen.”

“Jerry, if I park my car any closer to the wall I won’t be able to get into my car at all.”

“Well I can tell you right now you would have plenty of room to get out of your car.”

“What? Do you have a tape measure? Let’s measure. Nikki* suggests I have you park the car if you don’t like how I park.”

“I like Nikki, you should listen to her.”

“I don’t want you parking my car if you want to park it. Do you want to park it?”

“Yes.”

“Then no, you can only park it if you thought it was an awful idea.”

 

*[Nikki is not her real name, but she is a real person.]

 

Band-aids (most necessary item in our home other than Dove chocolate)

“Jerry, what brave people do we know who might want to visit us? So far, everyone who has ventured into our home has left with claw wounds. They don’t return.”

“It’s not our cats fault they were abused as kittens and they’re wary of people except us. They were mistreated by the lady who sold them to us. We warn our visitors.”

“Yes, the lady who advertised Himalayan-mix on Craig’s list lured me with her cute, fluffy, wide-eyed kitten pictures. She convinced me she needed compensation for her care of them. And I gave in thinking we were getting sweet, cuddly Himalayans.”

“Yeah, Bronwyn. She ripped you off.”

“It doesn’t matter. So they’re Siamese. I love them anyway even if they aren’t cuddly. They make me smile. I mean, how cute is that when Aliwicious leaves her little stuffed mouse in the food dish or on your pillow? Or the cute pose she does, sprawled on her back with praying paws? And we only have a few scratch wounds unlike our unfortunate company. Good thing I keep a big box of band-aids on hand. And Advil. From now on, I think I’ll just make it easier. Once our company arrives, that is if we ever have company, I’ll ask if I can get them something to drink with their band-aid and Advil.”

 

 

Casual observation in the car (makes good opportunity to air grievance of wife’s bossiness)

“Jerry, see that big white house with the brick siding?”

“Yes”

“I once had a dollhouse just like that. And do you know what is so amazing about having a dollhouse when you’re a kid?”

“No.”

“You get to be the boss and move the little people around into the different rooms and make them do what you want.”

(Sigh) “Some things never change.”