Wifey: “So, did you know pointy bras are coming back in style.”
Me: “Does that mean you’re gonna finally buy some new bras?”
Wifey: “You’re an asshole…just because my bras don’t have flowers and aren’t lacy and my panties don't have ‘sexy’ across the ass doesn’t mean they’re not hot.”
Me: “I never said your skin-toned skibbies weren’t hot. I was just asking because you starting talking about pointy booby holders.”
Wifey: “Seriously honey…do you have a problem with my undergarments?”
Me: “Isn’t an ‘undergarment’ like a slip or something a Sunday school teacher wears? It makes me think of my grandmother walking around the house before bed in like 18 layers of silky nastiness filled with hooks and wires and shit. I’d much prefer you to say ‘panties.’”
Wifey: “Why can’t we ever have a normal conversation anymore? Can’t you save your Mr. Funny-Man routine for the internet?”
Me: “You mean the interweb machine thingy?”
Wifey “SEE?!!!!”
Me: “All right…sorry…damn. So who in the hell would wear those pointy bra things, anyway?”
Wifey: “I don’t know…I wouldn’t.”
Me: “What about tassels? Would you wear them if they had tassels hanging off them? And you could shake your chest and make them twirl and go in opposite directions….that would be money if you did that.”
Wifey: “You really need to lay off the porn.”
Me: “I haven’t watched porn in hours.”
Wifey: “You know the kids can find that stuff on the computer, because you have it so easy to find.”
Me: *loud throat clear “interweb machine thingy” *loud throat clear
Wifey: “Did you go to school to learn how to be such a difficult person to talk to?”
Me: “No, I took bowling because asshole was full. So seriously, I haven’t even seen one pointy boob walking around in the city. I don’t think they’ve made a come-back quite yet.”
Wifey: “I’m just sayin’, I read an article that said they’re coming back.”
Me: “Since when do you read the newspaper?”
Wife: “I read the paper…you’re not around me all day, you have no idea what I read and don’t read.”
Me: “You saw it on Oprah didn’t you?”
Wifey: “I hate you.”
Me: “I seriously don’t think you like me anymore.”
Wifey: “Oh for the love of God here we go again.”
Me: “No…I’m serious. I wake up most mornings sore as hell, and I know it’s because you’re giving me badly practiced acupuncture at night. The other day, Grayson called me a meanie and I swear I saw you high-five him. And today…just today when I opened my lunch bag, there was a note in with my sandwich that said ‘die fucker’ and I’ve had a stomach ache ever since.”
Wifey: “I DID NOT high five Grayson. I would never teach him that name calling was OK.”
Me: “If I bought you a pointy bra would you wear it?”
Wifey: “Keep kicking back those beers and you might need a pointy bra, drunk-o.”
Me: “That would be awesome! It would be like a boob-flask for dudes. I could fill one with beer and the other with Jager with straws coming out of both. I wonder if that’s been patented?”
Wifey: “Idiot….”
Me: “We really should talk more often. This was nice.”
Wifey: “Sssshhh…CSI’s coming on.”
