Mummy goes... breathless
When was the last time you had a hit of hilarity that left you breathless, soundless, and quite likely to pee yourself? The type of belly laugh that keeps you giggling every time you think of it for some time.
I'm lucky - there's lots of laughter in our house, usually because my husband makes me laugh. Not always intentionally either.
In the years BC, my husband and I went on a road trip in Canada. We planned to travel the Icefields Parkway from Banff to Jasper and back again. The trip was amazing, with the exception of a trip round the local natural spring on a hangover, but it does go down in history as the first time I really, really laughedat with my life-partner.
My husband has never claimed to be an aficionado of fowl and fauna - he once famously called a peacock a penguin - but on one particular stop near a beautiful glacier-fed lake on our way to Jasper, an exceptionally large bird touched down nearby. Imagine a crow crossed with the giant chicken doing the rounds on YouTube, and you're getting to how big we're talking.
It proceeded to waddle towards my husband saying something that sounded "con-ca" or as my husband obviously felt "see, conquer, destroy" because he got a bit freaked out and ordered me to get in the car - once inside he locked the doors so it couldn't get to us, assuming it had opposable feet or something. And proceeded to be abusive towards and about the bird from the safety of the car, although sotte voce, in case it overheard and took its revenge.
Another occasion involving skinny jeans during my third trimester with my first child nearly put me into labour and his attempt shortly afterwards to sled on a small plastic tray gave me pre-eclamptic symptoms.
My favourite tale however is the alarm story. A hideous commute requiring a 4 am start every morning for 8 years meant that alarms had to be strategically placed to encourage immediate reaction and stop the snooze button being hit. At this point I should also say that my husband is incredibly clumsy, and his power tools are limited to an electric screwdriver and a crappy drill for safety reasons. When trying to walk through our bedroom door once (something he has done A LOT in the 10 years we've lived here), he managed to stump his toe on my dressing table. Clearly this made it my fault and he threw himself to the ground in a way not seen since Prince died in Purple Rain with a "For fuck's sake".
At 4 am this particular morning, the alarm went off (to recreate this, look for Xylophone on your iPhone alarm sound options) and he immediately shot out of bed in a foul mood. In his haste to reach the handset he collided with the wardrobe. Cue him kneeling on the floor trying to smash the phone in a double handed hammer punch, shouting "shut up you mother-fucker", all eerily back-lit with a green hue so it resembled nothing more than a scene from a camp version of Platoon. He brought himself back to bed, but not before hitting his toes on the bed frame.
I laughed til I cried on this, as on so many other occasions. As we say in our house, he's a clumsy twat, but he's my clumsy twat.
I'm lucky - there's lots of laughter in our house, usually because my husband makes me laugh. Not always intentionally either.
In the years BC, my husband and I went on a road trip in Canada. We planned to travel the Icefields Parkway from Banff to Jasper and back again. The trip was amazing, with the exception of a trip round the local natural spring on a hangover, but it does go down in history as the first time I really, really laughed
My husband has never claimed to be an aficionado of fowl and fauna - he once famously called a peacock a penguin - but on one particular stop near a beautiful glacier-fed lake on our way to Jasper, an exceptionally large bird touched down nearby. Imagine a crow crossed with the giant chicken doing the rounds on YouTube, and you're getting to how big we're talking.
It proceeded to waddle towards my husband saying something that sounded "con-ca" or as my husband obviously felt "see, conquer, destroy" because he got a bit freaked out and ordered me to get in the car - once inside he locked the doors so it couldn't get to us, assuming it had opposable feet or something. And proceeded to be abusive towards and about the bird from the safety of the car, although sotte voce, in case it overheard and took its revenge.
Another occasion involving skinny jeans during my third trimester with my first child nearly put me into labour and his attempt shortly afterwards to sled on a small plastic tray gave me pre-eclamptic symptoms.
My favourite tale however is the alarm story. A hideous commute requiring a 4 am start every morning for 8 years meant that alarms had to be strategically placed to encourage immediate reaction and stop the snooze button being hit. At this point I should also say that my husband is incredibly clumsy, and his power tools are limited to an electric screwdriver and a crappy drill for safety reasons. When trying to walk through our bedroom door once (something he has done A LOT in the 10 years we've lived here), he managed to stump his toe on my dressing table. Clearly this made it my fault and he threw himself to the ground in a way not seen since Prince died in Purple Rain with a "For fuck's sake".
At 4 am this particular morning, the alarm went off (to recreate this, look for Xylophone on your iPhone alarm sound options) and he immediately shot out of bed in a foul mood. In his haste to reach the handset he collided with the wardrobe. Cue him kneeling on the floor trying to smash the phone in a double handed hammer punch, shouting "shut up you mother-fucker", all eerily back-lit with a green hue so it resembled nothing more than a scene from a camp version of Platoon. He brought himself back to bed, but not before hitting his toes on the bed frame.
I laughed til I cried on this, as on so many other occasions. As we say in our house, he's a clumsy twat, but he's my clumsy twat.
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Thanks for ranting!