Well, not exactly. She’s just quirky enough to be endearing, not weird enough to need special treatment. And I doubt she’s sleeping with Johnny Depp. One of my wife’s classics: “I hate peas. They’re such liars. They look so smooth and juicy on the outside. They trick you into thinking they’re delicious, but when you bite into them they’re hard and dry. So disappointing.”
She sings along to music in commercials, which I find cute as all hell.
I think she’s been hanging around me too much. She’s picked up some of my phrases. For some reason I find her occasional outbursts of, “Shut the fuck up,” to the dog when he randomly barks at something to be hilarious. I guess it’s because I still don’t expect it from her.
When we were first dating, she stayed with me in one of the first places I lived in Japan. The house was terrible. Its walls were thin and had no discernible insulation. Some of the windows didn’t seal properly. I only had a kerosine space heater to warm the place, which you can’t run at night while you’re asleep because of the danger of carbon monoxide poisoning.
In the morning, she was not a happy person. That was one of the first times she cracked me up by cussing.
“This place is fucking cold!”
I told her that at least it was warm enough that our breath didn’t freeze on the blankets during the night. She was not impressed.
Honestly, I agreed with her, that place was fucking cold.