Two posts in one day! I should be getting paid for this. (Reasoning and logic are not my strong points. Neither is a Firm Grasp of Reality. Moving on…)
On Tuesday, Sweet William was not feeling well. You may recall that Viva and I were both sick recently; Viva has bounced back, while I, sad to say, appear to have been reinfected. My cough has never gone away, and now I have a sore throat. So Sweet William has gone and gotten sick, too. He took the day off to rest, but later on, decided he would go out.
Now, as I have mentioned here, I got a new car recently, and since he was going out, I asked him to accompany me to my car and see if he could figure out the gas cap. I am not kidding. I knew I was going to have to get gas soon, if my heart could stand the shock, and so I had tried to unlatch my anti-theft gas cap in the privacy of our garage, so I wouldn’t look a complete ass at the gas station. Because, you know, nothing is more humiliating than looking a total ass in front of people you have never seen before and will probably never see again. I couldn’t get it to open. I am not kidding. Thus, my appeal to Sweet William’s manliness or whatever the hell.
We went down to the garage together. Sweet William figured it out in no time flat. Then he said he had forgotten his hat, so he headed back upstairs via the stairs at the back of the garage. I put some stuff away in the trunk and then shut it. The car alarm beeped and my trunk popped back open. Weird. I opened the trunk all the way, shifted stuff around and closed the trunk, then activated the alarm. All of a sudden, the alarm beeped and the trunk opened again. What the hell? I was getting irritated now, because this was a new car and it appeared there was some sort of electrical short or some shit like that. I deactivated the alarm and went all around the car to make sure everything was closed, I checked the display to see if it would say something was open/unlatched that was not supposed to be, and then I shut the trunk and activated the alarm. Two seconds later, the alarm beeped and the trunk popped open again.
“What the hell--?” I muttered, getting pissed now.
“HONEY!” I heard this breathless scream, and I looked over to the back of the garage to see my husband, doubled over and crying with laughter, his remote in his hand.
“I hate you so much,” I said. I hate him fourscore and dickety.