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During our 7-hour road trip to Myrtle Beach, Matt commented that he'd
like to be a proverbial fly on the wall on a random night at the Arnold
household. He said this because Beth and I were in the back seat
smelling each other's hands ("Hey, smell my thumb. It smells like
pastry.").
Which got me to thinking: I really should write down some of
the deranged stuff we talk about when we're home together.
So I did. I actually took some notes two nights
ago:
GLENN: "I looked all over the house today for a
small mirror. How come you don't have a compact?"
BETH: "I do have
one. It's in my purse."
GLENN: "Do you ever use it?"
BETH: "Yeah,
I use it before I go into meetings at work to make sure I don't have any
boogers."
GLENN: "Well, I could have used it today to look at an ass
zit."
BETH (pretending she's the dog): "Look at my
cute little face. Feed me waffles."
BETH: "I definitely want to move out of this
house. That bathroom downstairs is disgusting."
GLENN: "So we should
move just because the bathroom is dirty?"
BETH: "Yes."
GLENN:
"Sounds good to me."
GLENN (singing out loud in the backyard):
"We've got sticks/We've got sticks/No, my name/Isn't Hans Blix."
BETH: "I think Luke hurt his back foot. He's limping."
GLENN: "He did? Really? Which leg?"
BETH: "His back left leg. Maybe
he twisted his ankle."
GLENN: "Dogs don't have ankles."
BETH: "Of
course dogs have ankles. Just look at his wrists."
(We also had a discussion about teeter totters
and fulcrums, but my notes weren't extensive enough to overcome the
effects of the wee bit of wine we had.)
So, it looks like it was just a normal night at
the Arnold House. I mean, doesn't everyone make up songs about U.N.
weapons inspectors and discuss the joints of their pets? |
2000-2006