A Scene Of Failure

10:04 pm- So you’ve gotten the baby to sleep and you’re finally tired yourself. Now comes time to get into bed.

10:05 pm- On second thought, you want to listen to some music as you go to sleep. You should find your headphones. It shouldn’t be too hard, you used them last night so they should be on your night stand.

10:06 pm- They’re not on your night stand.

10:07 pm- Okay think. You know you used them last night so they have to be somewhere nearby. You could have sworn that you put them on your night stand so they obviously had to have fallen down onto the very messy and cluttery floor.

10:08 pm- Attempt to locate the headphones in the dark so as to not disturb the sleeping baby with light. Swear a lot every time you make a lot of noise crinkling paper or knocking something precarious over. Wonder how you became such a slob in the first place.

10:14 pm- Belatedly realize you could have been using the flashlight on your cell phone this whole time without disturbing the baby at all. Attempt to locate phone on bed.

10:15pm- Phone is not on bed.

10:16 pm- See corner of phone peeking out from under your baby’s rear. Realize that in haste to set baby down to sleep you inadvertently placed her directly on top of your phone. Be thankful that no one called or texted you while she slept on your phone.

10:17 pm- Mission Impossible style stealth as you carefully extract your phone from under the baby; holding your breath as she stirs ever so slightly when you pull the phone out entirely. Deep exhale as she stays asleep.

10:18 pm- Phone in hand, it’s time to search for real. You pull up the menu and turn on your flashlight- OH GOD THE LIGHT, IT BURRRRNS!

10:19 pm- Point flashlight away from your eyes and blink rapidly, desperately trying to see something other than those green dots that always float around in your vision after getting blinded by a bright light.

10:21 pm- Begin your search in earnest. Sift through the crap on your floor like an archeologist on a dig. Oh, hey! A Chipotle gift card! SCORE!

10:30 pm- It’s not on the floor next to your night stand. There’s just no way. You decide that maybe the crap pushed them under the bed. You want to lean down to look under the bed to check.

10:31 pm- Has the area next to your bed always been this narrow or are you getting wider? You can’t manage to wiggle yourself down enough to crane your head to look under the bed.

10:32 pm- You consider flipping orientation to try to squeeze under the bed but realize this would put your long, curly hair right next to the spinning box fan. Images of utter disaster fill your head and you move to the foot of the bed instead.

10:35 pm- Welp they’re not under the bed. You marvel at how there is no junk under your husband’s side of the bed but a plethora of forgotten treasures under yours. You wonder how he manages to put up with all your clutter and muse on the irony that while he hates clutter in your room he couldn’t care less about the clutter in the kitchen.

10:37 pm- You all but want to give up now but can’t because you’ve got your heart set on listening to music as you sleep tonight. You wrack your brain even more, desperate to figure out where in the hell you put your headphones.

10:40 pm- Text husband to ask him to bring you your headphones that you left on the kitchen table.

~Fin

Today on, “Definition Theatre.”

Matt and I were sitting in bed the other day; he was playing on his phone and I was knitting. There was a tissue on the bed between us that I had pulled just in case I needed to sneeze.

Matt noticed the tissue and picked it up, asking if he could use it to blow his nose. “Sure, go for it.” I said.

“Wow. It’s like a fancy napkin or something.” He said right as he blew his nose.

I stopped and looked at him.

“It’s called a Kleenex.”

He stopped and looked at me sideways. “Don’t say a word,” he said as his face started to turn red. “Just, don’t.”

EPILOGUE: Matt admits that even as he was saying the fancy napkin line his brain was like, “Wait, what? Are we seriously saying that? Stop! Abort!” I about died laughing (but then, so did he) and he said it’s now officially my turn to have a severe lapse in common sense. (We take turns without really meaning to. If I say something particularly stupid or lacking in logic there is an almost guaranteed chance that Matt will be the next person to make a hilarious mistake. And then it ping-pongs back to me. It’s the saving grace of this marriage, I swear.)

Nicknames we’ve given our animals

(Because everyone knows you can’t just call a pet by the name you gave them. That’s just crazy talk.)

Shee-Shy-Sho

Shy Guy

Sugar Booger

Montresser

Monster

Montgomery Jones

Snack Pack

Princess

Fang

Booger Butt

Fluffer Butt

Rotten

Brat

Licky Lou

Puddin’ Pup

Shelly-Bean

Shelly-Belly

Shabaebae

Buddy

Mont

Shy-ee-yai

McRottenPants

(Our pets’ actual names are: Monty, Shy, Fang-A-Lang and Shelby. Can you guess whose nickname is whose?)