When it comes to flirting, Chunky is the only member of our family who’s got game. He had his first girlfriend in preschool and met his current main squeeze in kindergarten.
Monkey, on the other hand, calls girls “g-words” and spends inordinate amounts of time plotting their destruction with his schoolyard buddies. That’s why we were a little surprised recently when he asked our waitress if she got a lunch break.
I did a double take. Was that my nine-year-old?
The waitress laughed and explained the concept of a shift to Monkey. His eyes glazed over and soon he began studying the table top.
Kory beamed. “That’s my little future engineer! Throw a pick up line at the pretty girl then avert your gaze.”
That’s pretty much how it’s done folks. My favorite engineer joke goes something like this:
“How can you spot an extroverted engineer?”
“He looks at your feet while you’re talking instead of his own.”
I’m not much better at the art of flirtation. I never got beyond the often misinterpreted meaningful stare.
“Excuse me, miss. Are you okay? Miss? How many fingers am I holding up?”
Yeah, I got skillz.
I’m just as clueless at 32 as I was at 16.
The other day I was at the grocery store with my boys. I happened upon a large blond man in the frozen fish section. His size and the fact that he was wearing shorts in February caught my attention. Then I noticed a tiny dog in the crook of his arm. I felt I should share this spectacle with someone. So, under the guise of showing my boys the cute puppy, I called attention to Surfer Dude with Poodle.
Chunky informed our new friend that he better not let the police catch him with a dog in King Soopers. Surfer Dude—who had an Australian accent to go with his highlights—sheepishly admitted that he never suspected it was against store policy.
It didn’t occur to me until I was unloading the groceries at home that Surfer Dude with Poodle was trolling for chicks. Oops! There I was wasting his valuable time. I should have directed him to the produce section where all the Pilates Bodies go for their daily celery stick.
Which brings me to a very serious subject.
You know that expression—I may be married, but I’m not dead? Well, it worries me a bit. I seem to be both married and dead—a predicament that naturally reminds me of Pride and Prejudice and Zombies.
If you haven’t read the book, I’m not spoiling anything by telling you that Charlotte Lucas is tragically bitten and becomes a zombie. No one, not even her husband, Mr. Collins, seems to notice the change until Elizabeth Bennet, zombie ninja extraordinaire, comes along.
You can see the parallels can’t you?
So how do I break it to my husband gently that his wife is a zombie? Since I haven’t started losing appendages yet and am satisfying this strange new hunger with large amounts of cauliflower, the only thing I can come up with is this.
Anyone else have any suggestions?
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