November 07, 2004

Freudian Slip

Every once in a while, something happens that I KNOW has to go in the journal. Even if I'm risking the wrath of someone, there's just no getting around it.

And this, my friends, is one of those times.

I was sitting back with Morn watching "13 Going On 30" on DVD. She hadn't seen it yet, and I figured she'd like it. (Truthfully, I liked it a lot better the second time around…I haven't figured THAT one out yet…)

So there's a character in the movie named Alex, played by Samuel Ball. Alex is a doofus hockey player, just a little brighter than your average Cobb salad. Good looking, but nothing inside that pretty little head of his.

So Morn, while watching one of his scenes, made the comment "He's cute, but he's an idiot." I looked over, and she definitely had "the look" on her face. That's fine, I'm cool with that. For years I got used to her wiping drool from her chin every time she saw Billy Zane or Paul Gross, so this was nothing. And besides, she lives with my Elisha Cuthbert fixation, so who am I to judge?

A few minutes later, this guy says something stupid yet again. Morn pipes up, "Oh my God…he's dumb as a STUD."

It takes her about a quarter of a second to realize what she'd said. "STUMP!" she blurts out. "Dumb as a STUMP!"

But by then, my friends, it was too late. i was laughing...and, yes, I was laughing WITH her. But, in another more accurate way, I was laughing AT her. Somehow, I managed to blurt out "THAT'S going in the journal!"

Now, in my defense, she NEVER told me I couldn't put it in the journal. However, the glare she gave me was just about icy enough to permanently cool down the lava in most volcanoes. I should point out that this was in sharp contrast to the cherry-tomato-red her face had turned from embarrassment.

Now, a SMART man would leave it at that. However, as I've proven time and time again, I'm FAR from a smart man.

About an hour later, I'm walking to the kitchen, and I made some smartass comment or another. She calls after me to stop being a smartass. I paused, and then said, "You're right. Absolutely right. I am too much of a smartass. I should probably work on that." Pause for dramatic effect. "Maybe I should work on being as dumb as a STUD…"

You laugh. She didn't.

I risked a look back. Folks, if you've never seen a 5-foot-3 blonde woman with murder in her eyes, trust me, it ain't pretty. Well, okay, it IS pretty, and kind of sexy, but still intimidating. How I've survived this long is anyone's guess.

I figure I'll get mine sooner or later. And I'll deserve it. But these are the sacrifices you make to be a wiseass.

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