I'm Married to a Closet Doofus
Are you?
Do you know what I mean? Maybe you don't, so I'll explain. He *pretends* to be stupid for laughs. He used to do it in public, and royally embarrass me. Picture if you will, a hugely pregnant woman and the man next to her acting as if he weren't playing with a full deck. It was a wonder I didn't break my water and deliver Gameboy next to the Carousel in the Columbia Mall.
He loves hearing me laugh and if he hasn't heard enough, out comes the ding dong. The five year old trapped in an adult's body. Heard a train whistle? "Where toot toot?" and the happy, puppy dog persona emerges.
Tonight, he reduced me to laughing so hard, I was wheezing (a side product of asthma) He acted as if he was clueless about the phone. First, yelling at the top of his lungs "HELLO!" then "Hello?" then "hello?", then looking at me and saying 'why doesn't anyone answer?'
Thus begins the explanation, which he picks apart:
"You need to open the phone to talk on it" This gets him to take the battery cover off.
"You have to dial the number of the person you want to talk to, then press the green button" results in him calling MY phone and wondering why it's ringing. (and asking why I chose that particular part of "Willow Farm". It's Goofy, he tells me, which is exactly why it is assigned to him)
He runs to grab my phone, because there's this song coming from the kitchen, you know. Again with the picking the thing up and saying "Hello" over and over without opening it. Next, he returns to me and hands it to me, telling me that they hung up. (DUH!)
He pouts, "I just wanted to talk to somebody."
I take the phone in my hand and dial his phone covertly. At this point, Ed's got his phone in hands, looking at it mournfully: it doesn't do what he thought it would, because nobody's talking to him. When it rings, he drops it like a hot potato, because, he says, it's trying to shoot him. (Tom Saywer by Rush-very fitting, but the beginning is a synth pedal that sounds like a ray gun)
Next, trying to explain how you ANSWER the phone. He finally gets it as the phone stops ringing. "They're gone", comes this tiny, mournful voice.
Of course, I have to dial again. "Hello?" he answers, excitedly. Someone to talk to!
"Hello", I say back and I am SHUSHED. "I'm talking on the phone!", Ed says proudly.
"Hello?" he says again, and I say "Hello" into my phone. "I can't HEAR them, shush" is what he says with a mock scowl.
I resort to covering my phone and whispering "hello". He drops the phone-"It's possessed." Ed now picks it up and starts saying "who's there?" as I'm wheezing.
He got me laughing just hard enough that I can't speak, but not too hard enough that I have an asthma attack.
Mission Accomplished.
Do you know what I mean? Maybe you don't, so I'll explain. He *pretends* to be stupid for laughs. He used to do it in public, and royally embarrass me. Picture if you will, a hugely pregnant woman and the man next to her acting as if he weren't playing with a full deck. It was a wonder I didn't break my water and deliver Gameboy next to the Carousel in the Columbia Mall.
He loves hearing me laugh and if he hasn't heard enough, out comes the ding dong. The five year old trapped in an adult's body. Heard a train whistle? "Where toot toot?" and the happy, puppy dog persona emerges.
Tonight, he reduced me to laughing so hard, I was wheezing (a side product of asthma) He acted as if he was clueless about the phone. First, yelling at the top of his lungs "HELLO!" then "Hello?" then "hello?", then looking at me and saying 'why doesn't anyone answer?'
Thus begins the explanation, which he picks apart:
"You need to open the phone to talk on it" This gets him to take the battery cover off.
"You have to dial the number of the person you want to talk to, then press the green button" results in him calling MY phone and wondering why it's ringing. (and asking why I chose that particular part of "Willow Farm". It's Goofy, he tells me, which is exactly why it is assigned to him)
He runs to grab my phone, because there's this song coming from the kitchen, you know. Again with the picking the thing up and saying "Hello" over and over without opening it. Next, he returns to me and hands it to me, telling me that they hung up. (DUH!)
He pouts, "I just wanted to talk to somebody."
I take the phone in my hand and dial his phone covertly. At this point, Ed's got his phone in hands, looking at it mournfully: it doesn't do what he thought it would, because nobody's talking to him. When it rings, he drops it like a hot potato, because, he says, it's trying to shoot him. (Tom Saywer by Rush-very fitting, but the beginning is a synth pedal that sounds like a ray gun)
Next, trying to explain how you ANSWER the phone. He finally gets it as the phone stops ringing. "They're gone", comes this tiny, mournful voice.
Of course, I have to dial again. "Hello?" he answers, excitedly. Someone to talk to!
"Hello", I say back and I am SHUSHED. "I'm talking on the phone!", Ed says proudly.
"Hello?" he says again, and I say "Hello" into my phone. "I can't HEAR them, shush" is what he says with a mock scowl.
I resort to covering my phone and whispering "hello". He drops the phone-"It's possessed." Ed now picks it up and starts saying "who's there?" as I'm wheezing.
He got me laughing just hard enough that I can't speak, but not too hard enough that I have an asthma attack.
Mission Accomplished.
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