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And now back to our regularly scheduled programming.
This is an actual conversation I had with Mark last night.
I swear to you.
We are lying in bed.
And Mark says, “Damn it, I meant to turn off the ceiling fan,” and he gets out of bed in the pitch black room and makes his way to the wall switch on the opposite side of our bedroom.
If this was me? I would be crashing into the base of the bed right about now, and so I say, “Be careful, babe. It’s really dark.”
“Don’t you worry about me. I have bat-like spatial skills.”
And he gets back into bed, pulls up the covers, “You want to worry about something, worry about that hook in the bathroom impaling my brain stem. That’s what you should be worried about.”
Wait . . . what?
And so I say, “Wait . . . what?”
He explains, “In the bathroom, on that small wall next to the shower, there’s a hook. And every time I get out of the shower, I am aware of that hook and how easy it would be to fall against it and then I would just be dead. Hanging on a towel hook.”
I am snorting with laughter, but he continues all seriously, “Babe, I have seen that sort of thing in the movies. Doesn’t even have to be that sharp. The base of your brain,” and he guides my hand to the back of his neck, right at his hairline, “is all vulnerable right here.”
I am giggling hysterically, “Really? You spend a lot of time worrying about being impaled by towel hooks?”
He is stubborn, “I’ve seen what those hooks can do. I’m staying away from that thing. I never turn my back on it in case I suddenly trip and fall backward, and then there I am . . . dead on a towel hook. You should take this more seriously . . . I have seen this in the movies. It’s scary shit.”
Tears are streaming down my face and I cannot catch my breath, I am laughing so hard.
Mark does not giggle, “You don’t use that shower. You don’t know. It’s dangerous in there. Go check. Right at the base of your neck is not a good spot to be impaled.”
I do not get up, “Sweetie? If the hook hits the base of your neck? It will be at the top my my head. I am shorter than you are. Duh.”
“Fine, it’s just a constant danger that impacts only me. Laugh all you want. See how funny it is when your husband is hanging from the bathroom towel hook.”
I . . . cannot . . .breathe.
And then he says, “You never wear stilettos.”
Which is a statement of fact. I hate high heels of any sort, and if I can get away with wearing gym shoes? Those are the shoes I am going to wear.
But I assume Mark is going to reveal some stiletto fantasy, which is all good. I can wear the shoes lying down . . . it’s just the walking thing that fucks me up.
So I wipe my tears of laughter and try to get myself under control. Bring on the sexy fantasy!
But then he says, “Yeah, it’s a good thing you don’t wear stilettos, because those are some dangerous pointy shoes.”
“Oh my god! You’re worried about brain-stem impaling again!”
“Kris, a stiletto can be used to stab you right in the brain. I have seen it happen.”
I manage to choke out, “In the movies?”
“Yes, but that doesn’t mean it’s not true. Anyway, if you did have stilettos? You would just break a leg.”
Another statement of fact, but, “Hey! Are you saying I wouldn’t be sexy in those shoes?”
“Not walking, no.”
“Well, I guess if you practiced enough.”
He is tired and he is falling asleep, but guess what he says next?
“You know what would be sexy? If you ever did figure out how to wear stilettos? I could take you walking on the steel bridge.”
What the fuck, right?
Wait a second . . . “You mean the steel bridge as in the bridge with a million small holes in it? So that I would trip and fall to the ground endlessly as I tried to navigate in my stiletto heels? What is wrong with you?”
“I’m just thinking it would be harder for you to catch me and stab me with your shoe if both of your legs were broken.”
“You are insane. I am writing this shit down,” and I reach to grab the pen and notebook I keep on my nightstand.
He reaches to touch the back of my head, “Careful with that pen. Pens can be used to stab you right in the brain. I’ve seen it in the movies.”
What the fuck?