Conversations With the Mister {the Sarcastic Marriage}

At 21 years old I snagged the most sarcastic, handsome, legally-aged, country boy I could find within claw-grasping distance. We fell in madly love, got married and made adorable offspring.
Then I learned those things that magnetize you to each other become the sources of daily huffs and eye rolls. That sharp wit of his makes me laugh, but it also makes me want to throat punch him. He never can ‘be serious for once!’.
Here’s the even sadder fact, this sarcasm has also seeped into the impulse reactions of my own personality.
All this is evident in our conversations.
I’ve recently started writing them down as they happened, I’ll share some with you….

Scene: Mr and I are talking over the incessant singing/yelling of our 30 month old son 
Me: At what age is it considered funny, and not abuse, to duct tape your kids mouth shut?
Mr: As long as it’s just the mouth and not the nose I think it’s ok

Scene: I lost another round of Rock Paper Scissors, and when I try to get out of the chore the hubby says to snap to it (house rules!)
Mr. You need to get on it.
Me: You don’t tell me what to do!
Silent stares at each other
Me: Rock Paper Scissors tells me what to do 

We’ve all done it, pretend NOT to notice the poppy diaper and wait for the spouse to. Came up from laundry and husband was holding LJ who had clearly shaat through her pants. He wanted to play#rockpaperscissors House Rules, when challenged you MUST play. No outs, no substitutes. He lost and got a whack of my side eye about him waiting for me to finish laundry. Some call it karma I call it ‘smirk at you and instagram you’ #rockpaperscissors #diaperduty #husbandsandwives #wearematureadults#butnotreally

Scene: We went to bed way too late and were both laying awake 
Mr: I can’t fall asleep
Me: We could talk about our feelings. That always seems to help you fall asleep
Silence…..silence…..
Mr. Yeeeeahhhhhh…….
[But so does starfishing on his back and breathing through his mouth like Darth Vader……so he did that instead]

Scene: Mr. comments on (his) recent scale weigh-in
Me: Well you know what they say, don’t look at the number on the scale. You count the number of dolla bills in you waist band at the end of the night to know how hawt you look
[Disclaimer: don’t mix cold meds and espresso – or you become Mrs. Sassy Pants aka Latisha]

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