The Wife, Anderson Cooper & Egypt

To say the wife loves Anderson Cooper is to say that I think Jennifer Aniston ranks as “eh” on a scale of “I just threw up in my mouth” to “I’d murder someone just to have her look at me!”

I mean, I can see her thinking he’s good looking… what with the perfect hair, skin, and what-not.

Just the other day a friend revealed to her that he’s gay. Her response, “that’s cool. I’d still be there for him.”

My response, “hang in there kiddo, you never know. You could lay the magic touch that turns him straight. But if you do…deal is…the dog, hamster, cat, and fish go with you!!”

Regardless, she’s a fan.

So much so that my dear friend @ieatmykidzsnack on Twitter pulled some heroic strings and got a personalized, signed autographed picture of Mr. Cooper as a Christmas present to the wife.

But I guess the part I love the most is that she doesn’t obsessively watch thousands of hours of his broadcast. Which, in my phenomenal inspector/FBI training abilities, tells me she’s just in it for the looks.

So, apparently Egypt has been kicking the living shit out of Anderson Cooper lately.

This past Wednesday pro-Egyptian government campers threw 10 fist blows at my man’s head. Yesterday, they stepped it up a notch and went after him in his “news van.”

As a side note…if he was in a Hummer…I would have even joined the group trying to attack him. But that’s a whole other blog post.

Knowing my wife tends to lean significantly towards the “I don’t read the news too much but love me some Hoarders episodes,” I filled her in on her boyfriend’s Egyptian experiences by treating it as though I was having to tell her the cat is dead.

I walked down to her basement work-from-home office, embraced her to the point to where she was in pain and wanted me to “just go away!!!”

I said, “Shnookums (cause she loves it when I call her that) I need you to sit down for a sec. I…..I have to tell you something.”

Wife: “Why are you drinking a beer at 9:18 a.m.?”

Me: “Because I’ve been traumatized on your behalf and needed something to help me get through this.”

Wife: “Oh my god what is it?”

Me: “Anderson Cooper got his ass kicked in Egypt…twice.”

Wife: “Is he alive? Is he hurt?”

Me: “He’s still reporting and I can’t see a damn scratch on that guy…I seriously think he’s a robot!!”

Wife: “Oh thank God.”

Me: “You mean Oh thank baby Jesus?”

Wife: “Maybe you should think about visiting Egypt.”

She clearly took it well.

Later that night I swear I walked in on her talking to her signed Anderson Cooper picture. But being the delightful husband I am, I just gave her a knowingly smile, patted her on the head (cause she loves that) and walked out of the room to give her more time with her love.



Attachment Issues

My daughter is one of those girls that stays attached to her mommy at all times.

Occasionally it works to my advantage.

Like, when the daughter puked up a vat of semi-digested popcorn the other night.

I got stuck cleaning chunks off sheets while the wife got to hold the daughter's hair back as she "talked to Ralph on the big white phone."

Other times...well, it's not so awesome.

Like, when 10 adults and us spend the first hour of a dinner party having to spell out naughty words so the daughter doesn't learn what "flashing, douchebags, and quickies" are.

It's been a long and painful road watching the daughter remain attached to the wife in social settings.

I stay out of it waiting for the wife to drop her Jedi-mind-trick-ninja-awesomeness stuff on her. In the old days that would result in the daughter perplexed and left hanging with kids before she knew what happened.

Now, the daughter just laughs and gives the wife that, “time to step-it-up a notch loser” look within seconds of saying, “hey look, an awesome movie’s on in the other room!!”

However, this past weekend was huge.

The family hit an awesome party which for the first hour the daughter decided she was 38 and ready to be an adult with everyone.

I watched as she made eye-contact with the adults as they told stories. She smiled at punch-lines. She was entranced at long tales recounting drunken nakedness through the neighborhood.

That’s when I knew the attachment had to be broken.

Visions of the daughter being 12 years old, drinking beer, hanging with the adults, telling stories we’re all drunkingly laughing at while wondering “who invited the super young chick to the party” filled my head.

NO!

She needed to hang with the kids.

And that’s when I come in.

Scooping the daughter up, tickling her as I lead her to the massive cookie stash just steps from the “Night at the Museum” movie blaring next to the gaggle of kids with juice-stained mouths.

Within minutes she was double fisting sugar awesomeness and being swept up by the kid-magic.

And I…I escaped back to the world of drunkin stupidness. A couple hours later, she was in the middle of the room doing the robot as we all laughed our asses off.

A circle of adults and kids were her audience as she juked and jived around the floor. The same little girl who a few hours ago wouldn’t let go of her mommy’s leg.

The wife and I basked in the light of hope that our little angel might finally be breaking out of her shell. Doubtful…but hopeful.