When presented with yet another painting by the kids, it’s not uncommon to hear my husband exclaim “That’s going straight to the pool room!”. Except, unlike the iconic Australian film The Castle, our pool room doesn’t have a pool table or isn’t even really a room – it’s actually the toilet. And so it’s also not uncommon for Mr Justice to return from school bearing magnificent masterpieces upon which he’s written “Please put in the toilet”. Lord knows what his teachers must think of us.
Therefore nobody should be surprised that the poster for our friend Mzzzzz E’s new cabaret show has taken pride of place in the toilet.
But the other night, during an extended visit to the pool room with one of the kids (of which I’ll spare you the details), I spent a lot of time staring at the poster and came up with a few minor revisions I would make, given half the chance.
I decided to share them with my husband, who I found clapping and singing the bass line to Michael Jackson’s classic song “Billy Jean” all by himself, which was entirely to be expected. If you don’t know the song, it goes something like this: “Dunnah… Dunnah (clap!) Dunnah… Dunnah (clap-clap!)”.
“Humph!” I shouted, over the top of his bass line antics. “I’m the so-called ‘comedy’ writer – albeit one with a propensity for the random Capitalisation Of Words and a tendency to indiscriminately use words like ‘fuck’ and ‘arseclown’… Why didn’t Mzzzz E ask me for my input on the poster?”
“Or mine. I’m the so-called comedy writer’s so-called editor, remember!” my husband added, still clapping.
I decided to ignore him and continue on with my observations: “Mzzzz E would have definitely been all ‘Oooh don’t ask her, she’s just the Mommy Blogger!’”
“Or even ‘Oooh, don’t ask him, he’s just the boring financial guy who happens to edit his wife’s so-called comedy blog…’” my husband joined in.
“Hey, who’s asking you, Billy Jean Boy,” I said, quite pointedly. “And for your information, you’re just the Part-Time So-Called Editor of my So-Called Comedy Blog! I only get you to edit when I’m really stuck or am about to say something defamatory. Usually something defamatory about you, granted, but whatever. I’m a one-girl band!”
“Oooh, look at you being so defensive,” my husband rejoined, still clapping and “dunnah-dunnah”ing.
“It’s because you never laugh at my jokes!” I shouted – it was all coming out now. “You only laugh at your own jokes.”
“That’s because I’m the designated ‘funny one’ in the relationship. And the agreement was that you have to laugh at my jokes,” he replied.
“WHAT agreement?!” I spluttered.
“Look, you write a blog about it and I’ll write a song,” he said and then went so deep into his Billy Jean rhythm section, there was no reaching him.
So you know what I’ve done? I’ve written the blog. And you know what I’m going to do next? I’m going to print it out and stick it up in the toilet.
Let’s see him do that with his stupid song (clap-clap!).
Dunnah… Dunnah (clap!) Dunnah… Dunnah (clap-clap!)
You might think that’s funny now but come talk to me in eight hours when it’s STILL going through your brain.
That bass line is the soundtrack to my life!
And to my husband’s. He says every time he puts the indicator on in the car, it sets him off…
Sting of the Police had a quote which I may be making up entirely but it went something like this: “”I don’t keep my awards in the toilet because I’m modest, I do it because I figure that’s the one room everyone has to visit when they come to my house”.
As for finding the spouse or SO’s jokes amusing; I was with friends last night and I was quite stunned to hear her laugh at one of his jokes. I was struck by the unfamiliarity of the sound. I realised how rare it was. They’re both funny, bantering people, but they don’t tend to crack each other up. Is it because surprise is one of the chief elements of humour?
Hope your transition to tri-weekly blogger (pun that, sister) is going well.
Peace Out!
You see, I laugh at my husbands jokes. But maybe because he’s the boring financial guy and I only expect facts and figures about economic growth and mortgage rates to come out of his mouth. So then it is surprising when he makes a joke.
Whereas I look funny. Uncombed hair, unwashed clothing, unsightly stains… Oh, I guess that’s the wrong “funny”, right?
But. But. But I thought you were the funny one! All he does is draw Box Ted. You Write Comic Joke!
Don’t worry, faemom. I’m talking to my lawyers about this so-called “agreement”.
Hmm. I meant: YOU WRITE COMIC GOLD!
I prefer to call it “Cheap Champagne Comedy” but yes, you are right.
I always thought you were perfectly paired in terms of wit, absolute equals. But you’re right – I’ve seen you laugh at him but never him at you! I’ve only seen him smile adoringly at your jokes….
x x
Well if only one of you needs to be present to make an agreement, I’d be making quite a few.
He takes care of all vomit related incidents, you take care of emptying the wine bottles.
He takes care of all toilet related incidents, you make awesome birthday cakes and pinatas.
We had an agreement!!
I’m too busy laughing to think of a mildly witty retort, but I do agree with faemom, comic gold.
I’m doing the literal out loud laughing here. Brilliant!
Maybe he will write the music to your venty lyrics!
Oh, and please come and get your thumpy base line out of my head now. Kthxbai.
It’s like a cross between George & Martha and the Algonquin Round Table at the NDM house. Hilarity with an edge. It’s difficult to keep up when they’re both so smart and funny.