A typical M vs. A discussion
I am not feeling very witty today. Well, not blogger-witty. I've been plenty witty in various e-mails to friends, but I'm not feelin' it here. It's not coming. It's just around the bend. My talent is out there, lurking, laughing and me and saying, "Yeah, not so clever now, beyotch!"
I'm wishing I had remembered to scan the latest drawing produced by Zoe, wherein she's portrayed our family in great detail. There are four humanoid objects that are said to resemble me, M, Zozer, and Hoot (apparently he's more human than avian). But she's also taken to adding the cats to the family portrait, and that's what's funny. They are generally circular in nature, with faces that resemble ours, but then four legs and a tail (I'm assuming it's a tail and not a fifth leg) shoot out from the bottom of each one. I showed M last night after he got home - Zozo was in bed - and he practically guffawed when he saw them. "WTF are those?" Ummm, the cats? We laughed for awhile. They look rather like lopsided spiders or jellyfish.
If I had remembered to scan them, I could post that here and you, too, could share our delight.
But no. Instead, here I am, flailing away, trying to, as M so eloquently puts it, barf all over the page and be entertaining or, at the very least, share some insight to our world.
Ooooo. Some insight just came to me.
Last night, I showed M (for the second time), a new iPhone skin that I'd like to get. It makes the phone look like a Leica, which is a really, really, super-duper expensive fancy-schmancy camera that I will most likely never own. Not that I necessarily want a Leica...it's just one of those things photographers drool over. It's the Lamborghini of cameras, whereas my D300 is a good, solid, reliable Honda Accord. Well, maybe it's a bit higher than that...maybe it's an Acura. Anyway, Leica-holics swear that photographs produced by a Leica (pronounced "Like-uh") have a certain ethereal glow that no other camera can capture. Whatever. I call bullshit on that. It's a light-tight box with a shutter that opens and closes just like every other camera body. The lenses are good, but so are the Nikkors in my arsenal. To me, it's more about the person behind the camera and less about the camera. But I digress.
So the Leica iPhone skin is totally cracking me up, because it's just fun and ridiculous. Kinda like putting the Lamborghini logo on my Accord. To me, it's worth the 13 bucks plus shipping just to be tickled every time I see it.
To M, it's a complete and total waste of money. "What do you need it for? We just bought you a case when you got the phone. What's wrong with the case you have? You don't need a new case!" Sometimes he's a major buzz killer. Although I try to remind him that, unlike other women, I don't like shopping and I typically don't buy a lot for myself, he fails to see just how lucky he is in this regard.
I told him that if he was gonna go all cranky about it, I would use some of the money left over from his folks for my birthday. A big chunk went to buy an awesome new camera bag purse that I adore. Since I didn't blow my wad all at once, and I thought about getting the Leica skin and maybe one of these totally cute camera strap covers that allows you to customize your strap and not have you look like one of the legions of Nikonistas that have boring old black and gold straps that scream "NIKON DIGITAL" and "D300" and "HEY MUGGER, RIP THIS OFF MY NECK."
M scowled. He rolled his eyes. He huffed and puffed (although he did not blow our house down).
I asked, "What do you want me to do with my birthday money?"
He replied, "Simple. Take it to the bottom line."
Wow. That's great. "Hey, whadja get for your birfday?" "A healthy bottom line!" Just what every girl wants and dreams about. Jewelry from Tiffany? Pah. I got me a bottom line, baby.
I quit arguing with him, got up from the computer, and walked away. Not 30 minutes later, he's calling me into the family room to look at the Excel spreadsheet he created to track his Christmas projects. Every strand is entered, every amp counted. (Calm down, girls...he's mine!) He ran through his plans for this Christmas. "I gotta get this finalized. I gotta place this order." I saw my chance, and I took it. I coolly asked him, "Sooooo, how much is all that gonna cost, anyway?" Without batting an eye, without missing a beat, without seeing one bit of the giant anvil of irony crashing down on his head, he told me.
Let's just say it's considerably more than the 38 bucks I had just proposed spending on myself, using money given to me for that purpose. Let's just say that the cost of my entire purchase would maybe cover the tax on his. Maybe. (He'll argue that since he's ordering his materials on-line, there is no tax. I'll argue that for the sake of argument, let's just go with it, and that's a literary tool to prove that his bonehead order is WAY BIGGER than mine, and says it much more elegantly.) (And besides, it's not about that. It's about the complete inequity perpetrated in our house, where my expenses are deemed irrational and unnecessary whilst his are always perfectly legitimate.)
When I try to point out to him the obvious imbalance in this scenario, he responds with his stock answer that is so full of crap that it almost makes me want to gag.
"But I don't build the Christmas display for me. This isn't about me. It's about the children."
OMG. And he says I barf all over the page?
I'm wishing I had remembered to scan the latest drawing produced by Zoe, wherein she's portrayed our family in great detail. There are four humanoid objects that are said to resemble me, M, Zozer, and Hoot (apparently he's more human than avian). But she's also taken to adding the cats to the family portrait, and that's what's funny. They are generally circular in nature, with faces that resemble ours, but then four legs and a tail (I'm assuming it's a tail and not a fifth leg) shoot out from the bottom of each one. I showed M last night after he got home - Zozo was in bed - and he practically guffawed when he saw them. "WTF are those?" Ummm, the cats? We laughed for awhile. They look rather like lopsided spiders or jellyfish.
If I had remembered to scan them, I could post that here and you, too, could share our delight.
But no. Instead, here I am, flailing away, trying to, as M so eloquently puts it, barf all over the page and be entertaining or, at the very least, share some insight to our world.
Ooooo. Some insight just came to me.
Last night, I showed M (for the second time), a new iPhone skin that I'd like to get. It makes the phone look like a Leica, which is a really, really, super-duper expensive fancy-schmancy camera that I will most likely never own. Not that I necessarily want a Leica...it's just one of those things photographers drool over. It's the Lamborghini of cameras, whereas my D300 is a good, solid, reliable Honda Accord. Well, maybe it's a bit higher than that...maybe it's an Acura. Anyway, Leica-holics swear that photographs produced by a Leica (pronounced "Like-uh") have a certain ethereal glow that no other camera can capture. Whatever. I call bullshit on that. It's a light-tight box with a shutter that opens and closes just like every other camera body. The lenses are good, but so are the Nikkors in my arsenal. To me, it's more about the person behind the camera and less about the camera. But I digress.
So the Leica iPhone skin is totally cracking me up, because it's just fun and ridiculous. Kinda like putting the Lamborghini logo on my Accord. To me, it's worth the 13 bucks plus shipping just to be tickled every time I see it.
To M, it's a complete and total waste of money. "What do you need it for? We just bought you a case when you got the phone. What's wrong with the case you have? You don't need a new case!" Sometimes he's a major buzz killer. Although I try to remind him that, unlike other women, I don't like shopping and I typically don't buy a lot for myself, he fails to see just how lucky he is in this regard.
I told him that if he was gonna go all cranky about it, I would use some of the money left over from his folks for my birthday. A big chunk went to buy an awesome new camera bag purse that I adore. Since I didn't blow my wad all at once, and I thought about getting the Leica skin and maybe one of these totally cute camera strap covers that allows you to customize your strap and not have you look like one of the legions of Nikonistas that have boring old black and gold straps that scream "NIKON DIGITAL" and "D300" and "HEY MUGGER, RIP THIS OFF MY NECK."
M scowled. He rolled his eyes. He huffed and puffed (although he did not blow our house down).
I asked, "What do you want me to do with my birthday money?"
He replied, "Simple. Take it to the bottom line."
Wow. That's great. "Hey, whadja get for your birfday?" "A healthy bottom line!" Just what every girl wants and dreams about. Jewelry from Tiffany? Pah. I got me a bottom line, baby.
I quit arguing with him, got up from the computer, and walked away. Not 30 minutes later, he's calling me into the family room to look at the Excel spreadsheet he created to track his Christmas projects. Every strand is entered, every amp counted. (Calm down, girls...he's mine!) He ran through his plans for this Christmas. "I gotta get this finalized. I gotta place this order." I saw my chance, and I took it. I coolly asked him, "Sooooo, how much is all that gonna cost, anyway?" Without batting an eye, without missing a beat, without seeing one bit of the giant anvil of irony crashing down on his head, he told me.
Let's just say it's considerably more than the 38 bucks I had just proposed spending on myself, using money given to me for that purpose. Let's just say that the cost of my entire purchase would maybe cover the tax on his. Maybe. (He'll argue that since he's ordering his materials on-line, there is no tax. I'll argue that for the sake of argument, let's just go with it, and that's a literary tool to prove that his bonehead order is WAY BIGGER than mine, and says it much more elegantly.) (And besides, it's not about that. It's about the complete inequity perpetrated in our house, where my expenses are deemed irrational and unnecessary whilst his are always perfectly legitimate.)
When I try to point out to him the obvious imbalance in this scenario, he responds with his stock answer that is so full of crap that it almost makes me want to gag.
"But I don't build the Christmas display for me. This isn't about me. It's about the children."
OMG. And he says I barf all over the page?
posted by Amy at 10:25 AM
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