Marvin and I were gadding about all day, and then when we were done I said, "Let's go to Target on a Saturday in the afternoon, because that's sure to be relaxing and enjoyable, and also because we need bird seed because like Rik my idiot neighbor from LA, I need to feed my babies, the wild birds."
Anyway, does your husband do this to you? You are shopping like a normal person, and even perhaps saying things, and you turn around and he is nowhere? NOWHERE. Oh, it IRRITATES me. If I were remotely attractive anymore, I would grab the nearest man and make out with him every time Marvin does that, but now if I did that people would report me to the authorities.
I found him over in the music section this time, and come ON. The MUSIC section at TARGET. You cannot tell me that is a remotely compelling place for a music snob such as Marvin. Was he perusing Eddie Money's greatest hits? (I just said that to irk Faithful Reader and Commentor Hulk, who seems to get up in arms when you insult Eddie Money.)
"What are you DOING?" I asked him, a giant bag of bird seed on his shoulder like he was Johnny Appleseed of Target.
"They have that one song about how it's after one and I'm drunk. Do you know that song?" Marvin asked.
I paused. Because sadly, I DO somehow know that song.
"We have lived in the South for too long," I surmised.
"I might buy this," he said, the way he used to say at Amoeba Records on Sunset Blvd., where they had rare things, and cool things, and not drunk-at-one-in-the-morning things.
"The hole in your soul is not shaped like a CD," I told him for the 114th time. "Let's go."
Honestly, I do not know what's become of us. We used to be hip. Didn't we? Soon we'll be eating at Applebee's.
I love Applebee's.
Anyway, I found this photo today and I thought it summed everything up. Not the part where we have become old and uncool, just the part where I never shut up.
From DAY ONE he should have known my pie hole would be flappin'. It was right there from the first second. Look how he seems to be mulling his decision over right then. But the tux had been rented, and everyone was there, and he was stuck with me. Fortunately he is getting deaf as a doorknob from all the music listening and band playing, so my incessant chatter and telling him about the hole in his soul literally falls on deaf ears.
Who sings that terrible song, anyway? About being drunk at one in the morning? Could someone drunk dial me and let me know?