Oh, the things you discuss when in the car. Is it just us, or does the mere fact of being in a car create conversational weirdness? Because it’d better not be just us.
We were out and about in the car this weekend when I started the following conversation out of the blue. There was literally no segue into this topic. There had been a moment’s amiable silence where I sat looking at my hands and then, well, this:
ME: Hey, if one of your hands was cut off and thrown into a pile of similarly shaded man hands, could you pick out your own hand?
Now MB is a good sport. He utterly accepts almost any premise. He doesn’t fight it or say, “That is so stupid,” even when it is, like now. He actually considers it. Hahaha.
HE: Well, I probably could. (Looks at hands.) Yeah, I definitely could. I have a scar on this hand and another one on this hand.
ME: Okay. So out of a 50,000-hand pile, you actually think you could find your hand?
Notice how we never address the utter grotesqueness that would be the reality of the pile of hands. No, this is theoretical, you see, and can only exist on a theoretical plane with a pretend pile of hands.
HE: Yeah, I could. I know I could.
ME: Hm. I don’t think you could. I’m not sure I could pick mine out of a pile of women’s hands.
HE: Are you kidding me?
ME: No. I dunno. They’re just small white hands. Lots of women have small white hands. I mean, a 50,000-hand pile, that’s a lot of hands.
(What followed were numerous arguments by My Beloved as to why I could definitely pick out my hands because they’re so this and so that and so the other and, well, he just really likes my hands.)
ME: Well, still, I’m just saying I’m not sure.
HE: How can you not be sure?
Silence, somewhat less amiable now because of a pile of hands.
ME: Okay, then. What about your big toe?
HE: Sigh …..
Also if one falls asleep during a movie, one must be careful not to let slobber run down one’s face onto one’s clothing. 🙂
Imagining a pile of 50,000 hands…
Could you do the same with noses? ears? elbows? belly buttons?
hahahaha I love that you two were casually talking about a pile of hands … as though it wouldn’t be a Cambodian Killing Fields situation that would put you in the position of staring at a PILE OF 50,000 HANDS!!
hahahaha Beautiful!!
Funny as always!
I will have to remember the “Hands” conversation for our pending car trip to the mid-west.
red — yes, the whole hand thing is very Killing Fields. Which is a movie one can only see once, no?
rev — I guess it’s a question that you can apply to any body part. Would you recognize it apart from your body? You know ….. I suppose one doesn’t HAVE to picture a pile of hands or toes or noses in order to answer the question. But, surely, these are deep and worthwhile questions for you to discuss at the dinner table over tuna casserole with potato chips on top.
Shannon — May I offer you the “what physical quality or fashion statement in the opposite sex would be a deal breaker for you” conversation? It’s verry enjoyable!
Understanding, of course, this is THEORETICAL. I mean, if you’re talking to your spouse, it’s understood you are NOT looking elsewhere. That conversation My Beloved and I had lasted almost the entire 7-hour drive to his parents’ house. It’s a classic amongst our “driving conversations.”
One of his deal breakers is nude, nylon knee-high stockings. He literally shuddered when he said it, remembering a woman at our church who wore them and how he could see them when she sat down. He literally becomes UNGLUED at the sight. So if any of youse are thinking of stealing MB away from me, you won’t do it with THOSE!!
Any other deal breakers, people? “Freakouts” is also another way to say it, I guess. We just said “If the person had this or wore this, they would never stand a chance with me.”
And yes, we’re married and quite happily. It’s just good-natured, silly conversation.
Those knee-highs. I still laugh at his reaction. It was like the apocalypse had come.
hahaha about the knee highs!! I am so with him on that one.
And tracey, as we covered last week, but it truly cannot be said enough: If I was on a date with a guy who suddenly started raving about how he thinks commedia dell arte is the highpoint of theatrical history, or about his undying love for Renaissance Fairs, I very well might stand up and walk out with nary a “farewell”.
Dealbreaker. Totally.
Or if he sang you a song — a la Thunder Thighs — in which he wails:
I WANNA DIE RIGHT NOW
DIE RIGHT NOW
DIE DIE DIE D I E!!
OR if he seemed like a normal but then you found his secret stash of “Arlecchino” diamond pants and stupid warty masks …. RUN, RED, RUN!!
(Oh, and My Beloved says those knee highs are the ultimate “lust busters.” hahaha)
Yeah. No stupid warty masks. I feel violent just thinking about them.
And BLESS YOU for even knowing what I’m talking about!!! hahahaha
I KNOW WHAT YOU’RE TALKING ABOUT, RED!
And I’ll make you this deal:
If the whole world suddenly goes off on a Commedia Craze, I will NOT hesitate to drive off a cliff with you, Thelma and Louise style, whilst Harvey Keitel chases our car in his pantaloons.
And, rev, I think I could definitely find my belly button in a pile of 50,000 belly buttons. Here’s why:
I have the deepest belly button in the WHOLE WIDE WORLD. There is no sense arguing the point. I mean, if someone wants to challenge me to a depth measurement contest, okay, sure, I’m in. I’ll throw a pebble into it and time how many seconds it takes to hit the bottom. No problem.
I am not fat, but I have literally never seen the bottom of my belly button. Neither has MB. We have both tried and we have both failed.
Now, we just live our lives and try not to think about it, seeing as how — with me being possessed and all — it just might be some kind of porthole to HELL.
Let’s see if we can find a meta-narrative in all this: The demons from Hell that emerge from a belly button to sever the hands of 50,000 people while performing Commedia Della Arte in knee-high stockings while pudgy sweaty guys WITHOUT PASSION drink iced tea (possibly spiked) at four-way stop signs.
I may have just won next year’s Palme d’Or at Cannes.
Nightfly…I think you may have something there.
Tracey…thanks for more road trip conversation starters. I have my notepad out! It will be about a 24 hour drive one-way, so I need all the help I can get!
And my “lust buster”…the comb over. Everyone knows. Just let it go.
Nightfly — Wasn’t that in Fantasia? 😉
Heavy gold jewelry. Rings, chains, pendants, watch bands. It all says things
about you we don’t want to know.
Okay. Here’s one of mine, definitely. The heinous socks and sandals combo, especially if the sandals are Birkenstocks.
If you show up sporting that look, you are DEAD to me.
Actually, just wearing the Birkenstocks by themselves means we will be having a very serious conversation regarding footwear.
tracey – britney spears’ husband regularly sports the sandals and socks debacle – and sometimes he wears socks with flip-flops – which is even MORE horrifying – so you can see his nasty sock-clad toes being pried apart by the flip-flop. Truly nauseating.
Hahahaha, Tracey. I think that caused parts of Fantasia. BTW, I think the MB and I are best friends now, so you’ll have to introduce us.
My deal-buster is smoking. Ugh. Scarlett Johansen herself could recreate that magazine cover on my bed, and if she lit up, it would be all over.
/his nasty sock-clad toes being pried apart by the flip-flop./
I am choking!
hahahaha EW, right?? Have you seen those pictures? Grossness!!