loaded_march

The Spouse is driving us through backroads on a 6 hour car trip with the ultimate destination: wedding still 3 hours away. I'm distracted by a why am I still reading this terrible fic on my Kindle. We pass a car dealer.

Spouse: I don't really like the new Camaros. They're all square and blocky.

I look over my shoulder before it's out of sight and catch a faint glimpse of a white blotchy car.

Me: That's not a Camaro. That's a Corvette.

Spouse: Oh. Well, I don't like them.

Me: Okay. If we ever buy a sports car I'll remind you.

A bunch of classic cars drive past us, probably heading toward the car show we saw at a small town a while back. Spouse clearly is bored because he starts up a car trip game.

Spouse: Oldsmobile.

Me: That's a Malibu.

Spouse: Corvette with horrible paint job.

Me: That's actually a Stingray, and that's typical, don't mock the old days, they had style.

Spouse (fingers clenching tightly on the steering wheel): How about that Mustang?

Me: Oh it's nice! (muttering quietly) GTO.

Spouse: OH COME ON

Me: We've been married how long and you forget that my dad restored classic cars for fun? I hung out in the garage all the time! He read me Muscle Car magazine every night to as a bedtime story! There's no way you're going to win this game!

Spouse (relaxing): Oh, right. I forgot.

Five minutes pass.

Spouse: I spy with my little eye something brown with wings.

Me (squinting at him, half-distracted by the terrible, no-good, train wreck, can't put it down even though I should know better book): Did a Trans Am just drive past?

Spouse: Fuck off.

I'm working on a new instrument in a lab with several other instruments. A colleague is working nearby.

Me: Shit. Shit. Shitfuckshit. No, hold on. I got this. It's not a problem. Let's see -- fuckfucketyfuck -- wait, no, one second, there. Click. Click. Click. One more -- there. Click. Okay, fixed! The world survives another day.

My colleague doubles over laughing. He has to catch himself to keep from falling out of his chair.

Me (forgetting that he was close enough to hear me): What? Are you OK?

Colleague: I really miss sharing an office with you.

Still at work, but after rooting around for the better part of a half hour trying to find a tiny minuscule part that vanished into another dimension and giving up because I don't have time for this.

Me: I guess I'm going to have to get creative.

My colleague (same one as above) happens to be walking by just as I say that. He stops dead.

Colleague: Should I evacuate?

Me: Fuck you. Get out. Also, possibly, yes.

Colleague: I'll appreciate the advance warning. Just let me know.

Me: Give me fifteen minutes before you update the Apocalypse Forecast for the day.

In line at the grocery store, I smell something delicious. I turn around and I notice a woman with a hot ready-to-go dinner.

Me: That smells really good.

Woman: It is. It's so good. I gained six fucking pounds eating this addictive shit, I can't even tell you why I keep buying it, but it's awesome. But it's so hot, it's burning through my hand, why is the temperature so high in this store, I just came from work, they make us wear pants there, I'm sweating to death, I can't wait to get home where I can change into -- no, fuck that, I'm stripping naked and sitting on the couch and I don't care who the fuck sees me, I'm going to have all the windows wide open --

She gravitates to continue her (happy) rant with some people behind her. The woman in front of me glances at me, probably sees the I regret everything in my eyes. She raises an eyebrow as if to say Don't look at me, you're the one who started that.

Me: I get it now. This is why parents teach their kids not to talk to strangers.

(I hope the woman's okay, she snorted so hard it looked like she swallowed her gum)

I'm at Walmart checking out when the lady at the cash -- a little older woman, maybe in her 70s, with white curly hair and squinty eyes behind round glasses -- notices my Dr Who T-shirt.

Cashier: Oh, Doctor Who! I liked David Tennant, it was sad to see him leave the show.

Me: I liked him too but I dunno, growing up, I was always partial to Tom Baker.

Her eyes go wide, and she says: OH MY GOD YOU KNOW THE FOURTH DOCTOR I LOVE YOU SO MUCH NOBODY I TALK TO EVEN KNOWS WHO HE IS

(fandom, it's everywhere)

The text alert on my phone goes off while I'm at work, and, since I could use a break from staring at Too Much Data and Not Enough Correlation, I flipped it over.

Spouse: Phones are out here at my office, so don't call me.

Me: Okay, I won't.

Some time later...

Me: Can I call you yet?

Spouse: Oh yeah. Sorry. All fixed.

Me: Good. Good. Expect a phone call posthaste.

This is probably only funny if you know that the Spouse and I text pretty much exclusively.