Warning: this post is probably offensive to most. It is an example of why my relationship with Andy works so well and also why no one else would have either of us. If you’re offended, don’t say I didn’t warn you.
If you are my daughter or some other child who thinks of me like a mom, you’ll probably want to skip this one too.
Last week while lying in bed…
Me: OMG this is seriously the worst period I’ve ever had. I’m beginning to wonder if I miscarried or something.
Andy: Well if you miscarried I guess that’s a good thing since we can’t agree on baby names anyway.
Me: Rory for a boy or a girl is a cute name, I don’t care what you say.
Andy: I’ve told you, my family has a name scheme. I have to keep with the tradition.
Me: Your tradition involves naming any future son I have my ex-husband’s first name. That shouldn’t be okay with you. Besides, you’re adopted anyway, so your traditions don’t even count.
Andy: Why you gotta make fun of me for being adopted?
Me: Oh I’m a poor adopted kid whose parents actually wanted me enough to spend a bunch of time, hassle, and money to get me. I was a teenage accident whose parents were too irresponsible to even put me up for adoption. Suck on that a while.
Me: Okay, seriously, I’m pretty sure I’m dying.
Andy: You’re not dying. You just killed my baby, that’s all.
Me: *giggle* You seriously went there! (whacks him with a pillow) I’m going to bed.
So yeah, I think maybe sometimes we go too far. But the thing is, we know us well enough to know that sometimes, a joke is just a joke. Learn to take a joke people. Life’s too short.