Stick a fork in me

Sometimes it's hard to draft something witty and humorous. Especially when nothing funny has happened lately. And then sometimes, events don't need a long winded intro or a back story, they just need to be told. Because they are obvious and funny all by themselves.

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Tyler is too young to understand there is a difference between him and mommy. Or at least that's what I told myself. I was sorely mistaken one morning.

Tyler's doing his usual get out of bed and run sprints between his room and our bedroom, where I was getting dressed for the day. And it just so happens that at the moment he made his lap through our bedroom, I was fixing my bra into place.

Tyler runs in, screeches to a stop, and stares for a moment in quiet fascination. Decides what he sees on mommy is pretty funny looking, points, giggles and takes off running again.

I think I'll start dressing in the bathroom, from now on. With the door closed.

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On the rare occasion that the husband is actually home on a weeknight, it falls upon me to cook. I know, it is so hard being me. This particular night we were having chicken pesto penne, a very good dish I "accidentally" created. Read: in my mind it sounded good, and for once actually turned out alright.

The husband was finishing up the meal by pulling the garlic bread out of the oven, while I was pulling the tableware out of the cabinets for dinner.

"Is that one of those midget forks?" the husband asked

"A midget fork?" sometimes I find it kinda hard to decipher what exactly the husband means.

"Ya, one of those small forks. I can't stand to eat with a small fork. I need a man fork."

"A man fork. Since when do we have male and midget forks?" I'm not sure I need to know the answer.

"Since I decided I need a man fork"

"A man fork" I clarify.

"Yep, a man fork" the husband grunts and holds his arms up at his side trying to look burly but ends up looking a man who really needs to poop.

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When you send four grown men out to play golf for Father's Day, something is bound to go totally awry. We sent the husband, my father, my uncle and my brother-in-law out for a day of golfing last weekend. They protested, but eventually saw the reasoning and conceded that maybe it WAS best if they spent the day on a golf course that served beer.

It was hot, golfing was slow, and several beers had been had by the 12th hole. When they pull up they notice an elderly man lying next to the tee box clutching his chest.

"Oh my god dude, are you alright?" The husband slurs.

"Well, my chest doesn't feel so good, so my friends went to go call an ambulance for me." the old man breathes.

"That's good, that's good." the husband nods in acknowledgment.

Long pause, followed by some back and forth with my dad and uncle.

"So dude, do you mind if we play through?"

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The first fall the husband and I were together, we went on an afternoon date to the apple farm. Afterwards, the husband hinted that a nice fall dessert would be really nice.

Sure, why not, I've got mad cooking skills.

Honestly my cooking ability only loosely resemble cooking. If you consider me wearing an apron and standing in a kitchen cooking, then ya, I'm Rachel freaking Ray.

I whip out my Betty Crocker paperback cook book, flip to the index and find a receipe for apple cobbler. I scan quickly and figure it doesn't look too complicated.

A dash of this, a helping of that, a pinch of this here stuff. 45 minutes later, and Viola! a cobbler.

"Here ya go honey..." I sang as I plunk down a bowl in front of him.

"Oooh, WOW does that look good!" You could just see the love in his eyes.

I trotted back to the kitchen to dole out a helping for myself. I padded back to the couch and plopped down next to him. I look over his bowl is half empty. He gives me a half-hearted toothless smile followed by a thumbs up.

Score! I rock!

Then, I notice he looks a little green. And he's not chewing, just swallowing. So I taste my bowl.

"Blech! Oh my god! This is awful! What the hell did I make?" I regurgitated my bite back into my bowl. It was disgustingly salty

"I think you mixed up the salt and the sugar in the recipe." The husband offers.

I yanked the bowl from his hands "Oh, god, why did you even eat that?"

"Because I didn't have the heart to tell you that you can't cook"