This will go over real well with the people who don’t like their SO’s cats.
Sweetie,
You know I love you. I make you laugh and give you all the cuddles you can handle; you make sure I don’t wander off into the Minnesotan wilds towards certain death.
But we’ve got to talk about the bunnies.
I don’t think you appreciate them enough. I know they are technically ‘my’ bunnies, but since you’re with me…doesn’t logic dictate that they are now ‘our’ bunnies? I mean, with the love flowing there is no more ‘hers’ and ‘his’…right?
I don’t understand why you are so upset with Peter. Sure, he ate up a few, just one or two baby bites to make sure they were hooked up correctly, of your TV cords. My theory is that he was trying to make a statement. Do we really need a TV so large that we both can stand in it upright? He was trying to help you, to redirect you towards more healthy pursuits (like playing with the bunny!)
As for Edwin, I am saddened by your avoidance of him. He just wants love. Sure, he has that whole ‘causing serious injury to others’ thing, that’s why we keep him downstairs and away from Peter! You may be right in that he’s inflicted a few minor flesh wounds on you, but he was scared! I admit he has started making a gurgly, growly noise before attacking now (usually if you’re foolish and try to actually pet him), but I think you know deep, deep down, that he just wants love.
Now, ahem now that you realize the error of your ways, will you please help me clip their nails?
Love,
Lady
Hee Luckily, he doesn’t read this board or he’d start making those ominous comments about ‘tasty bunny stew’ again!
Shut off lights. Please. There are 8 bulbs burning in the bathroom every time you throw the switch. When you leave the room, they continue to burn. Along with the three on the bedroom ceiling and the fluorescent fixture in the kitchen and the 12 in the basement that you always seem to forget to extinguish.
For me. For our electric bill. Please, shut them off when you leave the room. Thank you.
You need to move closer. Like, now. Not that I can’t deal with you being where you are, but really, wouldn’t life be so much easier? Not to mention slightly warmer, I’d imagine.
That is all. I’m still waiting for your fatal flaw.
Honey, baby, love of my life, man of my dreams,
Do you think that maybe, with all of your high-tech gadgetry that maybe you could invest in a TelePrompTer so that when I ask a quesition, you could give me something like socially acceptable answer? Really, you could hire a staff to write them for you, and practice delivering them like you mean them. Remember when I was 8 months pregnant, and we were going out for our 11th anniversary, and I bought a new dress and new shoes and wore makeup and jewelry and all? And I asked you how I looked? And you said “Well, you don’t look like something the cat dragged in.” Those are the kinds of responses I’m thinking about. I don’t expect you to feed me compliments all the time, or read my mind. Just, for heaven’s sake, learn some social graces, huh?
Love
Your wife
Honey, I know you can never seem to find things in the kitchen even if they’re in plain sight right in front of your face and if they were snakes they’d have bitten you. It’s not really your territory, and you can be forgiven for not knowing where we’ve kept the glasses or the butter dish for the last 15 years. I completely understand the need to open every single cabinet and drawer in the kitchen in your futile search for a coffee cup. But there’s just this one little thing you keep forgetting. I am barely five feet, two inches tall. That means all the cabinet doors, when open, are at exactly my eyeball level, and you know how much you love my pretty eyes. It means that all the drawers, when open, are at exactly my tummy level, and you know how much you love my soft little tum-tum.
So would you, kindly, please, shut the friggin’ doors and drawers so that I may assist you in your random searches for utensils without losing an eye or incurring a black and blue spot on my otherwise flawless belly?
Darling, I love you with all my heart. But could you please give me the short version of the story every once in a while??? Especially if the story is related to mathmatics or economics or vast conspiracy theory?? You are precious to me, so I listen. But it’s really hard to stay interested sometimes. You have a tendency to run on a bit
Which reminds me of a joke.
What’s the name of the 12 step group for people who talk too much??
Wanna know how to collumate a telescope? Wanna know the intricate details of lugwork on various bicycle frames? How 'bout the pros and cons of a refractor vs. a reflector? Or the different types of materials used to make sea kayaks? I can tell you all those things. And none of 'em are MY hobbies.
(of course, it does come in handy when I see astronomy questions on the SDMB… I can typically answer 'em all, and I don’t give two hoots about telescopes.)
spooje, I’m with ya there! My wife drives me batty with her odd storytelling ways.
She must include the names of everyone involved - even, and seemingly especially, when they are people I have never met/will never meet/have never heard of. I don’t know if she expects me to remember all these names, but I just wait for the last sentence.
This weekend we were watching a video on an artist she was covering for her class (she’s an art teacher). He was in a wheelchair. She says to me, “He wasn’t always in a wheelchair.” I said, “I figured. What happened to him?”
She goes on to relay to me the entire tale of what he was doing, where he was, who he was dealing with that day, all the symptoms he was having, how he got to the hospital and how he and his wife were dealing with his being in the hospital.
Then she said, “It was a blood clot in his spine.”
I said, “Oh. That’s what I wanted to know.”
However, I have to admit it isn’t entirely her fault. Her whole family is like this (except for her younger brother, who thank God has grown up with a lot of influence from me).
You can’t. This is why the eyesore gets a room of its own and you have to suffer the cats making like Hänsel and Grethel across the forest path of your ass.
Luckily, he doesn’t read this board or he’d start making those ominous comments about ‘tasty bunny stew’ again!
