If you think living with a writer is no different than anyone else, try this on for size.
“Oh! My belly hurts.” I moan, holding my stomach.
“Did you eat too much?”
“You did this to me. You made me eat too much by cooking so good.” I moan. “You did it on purpose.”
I lay in the bed holding my belly and breathing funny. He lays with me and wraps me in his arms.
A while later, I moan. I swear I’ve been laying there for hours in excruciating pain, but I will bet it was only an hour, if that.
“Your belly still hurt?” he asks.
“You made me eat all those baby spaghetti worms and now they’re growing up.” I groan. “Spaghetti warfare, that’s what this is.”
He chuckles again.
(I’m such a baby. I don’t know how or why he puts up with me.)
A long time passes, maybe an hour, but more like 30 minutes, “Your belly any better?”
“No. I think my stomach is going to explode.” I whine. “It’s going to explode and spaghetti worms are gonna crawl out.”
He laughs, “No. It won’t. Spaghetti worms?”
“Yes, it will. Your spaghetti worms are gonna grow up and explode out of my stomach like on that alien movie.”
He chuckles again.
A while later, “Still hurting?”
“Yes. They’re growing and, when they’re done, they’ll explode out of my stomach and crawl away, just like that alien movie.”
Tired of my whining, I think, he makes me some Alka-seltzer.
“I can’t fit anymore in my stomach! Your spaghetti worms are already trying to split it open!” I whine.
“Just drink half.” he says.
I manage to get the whole glass down, but still whining about spaghetti worms and spaghetti warfare.
It eases the pain in my belly and I drift off to sleep.
Here is another little excerpt from my life.
“Hey! If dishes could fight, what do you think would win, a plate or a spoon?”
“Why would the spoon and the plate fight?”
“Good question. Maybe the fork was having an affair with the plate and the spoon found out.”
These are real conversations that I have with those around me. You just never know what my mind will come up with.
Until next time…