I've learned during the course of my life that when I'm feeling down, the easiest way to soothe my spirits is to be of service to others.
The easiest way to do that is to make someone else smile.
Which means, dear Cats and Roosters, that I'm telling you this story not because it makes me happy, but because it might make a few of you happy. Especially the Sadists-by-Proxies. You freaky fuckers, you.
So last night Husband crawled into bed next to me, and while it was obvious to me what he wanted, I was not about to be too accommodating to his wishes, mainly because he had already pissed me off. (He'd not allowed me to attend a munch I'd really been looking forward to. Yes, he had good reason. No, that didn't erase my feelings on the matter.)
So when he crawled into bed next to me, I lay there stiff as a board.
He started flicking me, slapping me, and poking me to get my attention.
"You poke me one more time, and I'm gonna poke your ass," I threatened, glaring at him across the bed. "You try to poke my ass, I'm gonna make you lick that finger," he shot back, letting out a short bark of laughter. "You're gross," I said. "Gross. Leave me alone." "Not gonna do that. Keep going, though, and you'll see how gross I can be." "I'm calling your bluff. Whatcha gonna do, Husband? Huh? Whatcha gonna do?" He promptly stuck his finger up my nose, dug around, and while I recoiled in shock and horror...he stuck said finger in my mouth. IN MY MOUTH. "OH MY GOD YOU ARE SO GROSS! I shrieked. "I CAN'T BELIEVE YOU!" As I screamed and spit over the side of the bed, he laughed until his face was red, and he was rocking atop the mattress. "I'M CALLING D!" I yelled, reaching for my phone.
He stopped. "Why do you do that?" He asked in a curious tone. "Why do you use 'calling d' as a threat?" "Because...because at least she gives me SYMPATHY!" I whined, holding the phone to my chest. "She UNDERSTANDS!" "She definitely understands, but she does not give you sympathy," he said. "She's only going to laugh at you. You know that." "I know," I grumbled, putting the phone back. "But I like to think she gives me sympathy, deep down in her heart. I can't even pretend that with you."
"Then you're learning," he said with another twisted smile. "Because you definitely do not get sympathy from me." "Then what do I get from you?" "Oh, wife, you should have learned by now, never to ask me that."
It's not just that I don't see the bus coming—although many times, I don't. It's also that, even when I see the bus coming, I don't see it as a bus at all. It's more like a big white fluffy teddy bear...stuffed with schadenfreude.