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Posts Tagged ‘the designated funny one in the relationship’

Every now and then I write something which I think is so funny that I have to pause my typing because I’m laughing so hard.

Generally speaking, however, I am the only person on the planet to find those things funny.

The other day, my husband (who, as some of you may remember, never laughs at my jokes) was spending some quality time tuning his Other Woman (also known as his motorbike) when I approached, chuckling heartily to myself.

Our subsequent conversation went something like this:

ME: I just wrote something really funny on facebook!

HIM: Really? That’s nice.

ME: Yeah it really was really really funny. No, really. You see, I wrote something about the humid weather in one of my status updates and [The Mild-Mannered Lawyer] made some reference to that Nelly song about  how it’s “getting hot in herre” and I was all, like, “so take off all your clothes”.

HIM: Yeah, that’s really funny.

ME: No, no, no, no. That’s not the funny bit! I haven’t got to it yet! Anyway, so then somebody else said something about how someone must have brought the weather from Sydney and, you see, that’s EXACTLY what Mr Justice accused me of that morning. Of taking the weather with me from Sydney. You know, because I just came back from Sydney.

HIM: Yep.

ME: And then The Mild-Mannered Lawyer – obviously in her capacity as my legal counsel – advised me that Mr Justice was plagiarising Crowded House lyrics…

HIM: (eyes glazing over) Uh huh.

ME: So I said – and this is the funny part right here – I said that Neil Finn should either sue or get together with Nelly and write a song called ‘Everywhere you go, you always take off all your clothes’ !!!!!

HIM: And?

ME: That’s the funny thing I wrote. ‘Everywhere you go, you always take off all your clothes!’.

HIM: (gives blank look)

ME: You know, because of that Crowded House song that goes ‘Everywhere you go, you always take the weather with you’. And because Nelly tells everyone to take off all their clothes – although, technically, nobody actually does take off all their clothes in the film clip, just a few superfluous top layers. Although I expect ‘take off a few superfluous top layers’ didn’t scan quite as well. Not that ‘take off all your clothes’ scans that well anyway because, let’s face it, it doesn’t even rhyme and it should be something like ‘So take off all your gear’ or ‘Let’s drink our body weight in beer’. Although you’d have to spell ‘gear’ and ‘beer’ with a double RR, you know, to be consistent with his creative spelling of ‘herre’, which I’ve always thought could also be an alternative spelling of ‘hair’ and, for reasons I can’t quite explain right now, makes me think of a bunch of heavily bearded guys in leathers dancing around in a nightclub where the roof is on fire. And no, I don’t know why I’m telling you this, either.

[Long silence]

HIM:  Oh. Okay. I’m glad you had a nice time on your Facebook. [Turns back to his motorbike].

Look, if my husband just bothered to accept my facebook friendship request – or, indeed, even joined Facebook – he’d see just how funny I was, like, ALL THE TIME and he’d be writing “Good one! LOLZZZZ!!! :-D” all over my damn wall.  Don’t I know it.

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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!).

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