Tuesday, December 4, 2012

Le Fever. La Flavor. DeBarge. Bel Biv Devoe. La Blah Blah. Whatever.

Over the weekend, NJ and his father traveled to his home state to pick up a gun and so Papaw could say his goodbyes to his two granddaughters there. Yes, it is that bad now. No, we won't talk about it because my heart can't bear it.

Anyway, apparently this gun is a huge deal because it's a LeFever Bel Biv Devoe double barreled shotgun and it's like 100 years old. Whatever the fancy business is, it's supposed to excite me. 

Let me be real upfront here. At 7:00 AM on a weekday morning, there are only two things that excite me. Someone telling me they will take my children to school for me or someone telling me lunches are already made, so it's one less thing I have to worry about. The artistry on the two barrels of your shotgun? Not even remotely. And when I have to stop trying to stuff myself into a pair of tights to pretend like I give a shit, my acting will not be award winning. 

It's also not award winning when I return home from an exhausting day spent with 15 and 16-year-olds. Not that I'm not happy NJ has his La Barge Biv Devoe gun. I am thrilled for him and even more thrilled it will be prominently hanging on my living room wall because it's too expensive to shoot due to black powder or baby powder or some powdery shit. 

I just don't get what all the fuss is about. Sensing that my lack of enthusiasm was hurting the old goat's feelings, I tried to help him understand. 

"Babe, you showing me all the stuff on that gun is like me holding up a pair of Carlos Santana heels and expecting you to squeal with delight over them."

"Okay, fine. If you were showing me those shoes, what would you be talking about?"

"The craftsmanship and artistry. I swear every shoe that man or one of his totally fairly paid employees in a totally safe factory makes and stamps his name on is a work of art." 

"Exactly." 

Not exactly at all. 

These complete an outfit are are gorgeous works of art. Picture attribution here.

This does not complete an outfit unless my name is Bonnie and I'm robbing banks
with my lover and partner in crime, Clyde. Picture attribution here.

Okay, fine, maybe NJ had a little bit of a point. 

But the day I tell him that will be the day we need ice skates in hell. 

Telling him he might be right about something would totally throw off the balance of power around here. 

And, now when I buy those shoes up there, he is obligated by the laws of God and man to get all excited about them since he ran his mouth about them being the same damn thing.

He will never outsmart me. 




1 comment:

Jodi said...

When will men learn? They can't outsmart us!