Don't Drink Out of That!

Last time I visited Mexico to teach at a college owned and operated by my good friends Clau and Oscar, the experience and their hyper-friendly but bizarre Mexican behaviour endowed me with a litany of stories to tell. Some I have already published. Others, alas, will never be told, but here's a brief little gem that tickled Marianne's funny bone to no end and that I just couldn't resist writing.
My farewell party on the last night with all the students lasted fairly well into the night. Once everyone had achieved a pretty solid grin and was entrenched in karaoke, Oscar and I stole into the kitchen to retrieve some more glasses and empty some of a bottle of his special stock of tequila. I opened up the cupboard and grabbed two glasses that looked elegant. They were oval in shape with an interesting opaque bottom. "I've never seen glasses this shape," I said. "They look really neat." Oscar just stared at me expressionless and mumbled, "Yah." I topped off one of the glasses with some tequila and mix. Oscar seemed to be staring at me a little more intensely than usual as I poured the drink, but I figured he was just as hazy as I was. I took a big swig and turned to Oscar with a self-satisfied grin. Again he sort of mumbled, expressionless and brief.
"Dass a candle."
"What?" I said, having not paid attention and I took another swig. Now he began to grin and he spoke again, more clearly.
"Dass a candle!"
I heard him that time and did a spit-take across the kitchen counter. Oscar burst out laughing and I reacted with shock - and laughter too.
"WHAT!? A CANDLE!? WHY DIDN'T YOU FUCKING TELL ME!?"
"Ja-ja-ja! I Wanted to see how far you would go. I mean, there's fucking wax in de bottom man."
What I had deemed opaque glass was actually the remaining wax from a candle that was long since well spent. There was even the metal wick holder still stuck to the bottom.
"Why are they in the glass cupboard?!"
"Dass de candle cupboard. Look. Iss full of candles. De glass cupboard is over here."
I felt like an idiot but we both had a good laugh. We proceeded to finish off the bottle by passing it back and forth and drinking shots straight out of it. Feeling no worse for wear, and enlivened with good tequila, we decided to take the matching pair of candle holders out to the drink glass table and wait for another unsuspecting victim to satisfy our morbid sense of humour. Any good humiliating experience is bettered when it is passed on to another.

See you in hell,
Shakes.

Haunting Midnight Gases

She was sweet, petite, sensual, demure, . . . gassy. It was very early in our relationship and she had invited me over for the evening to watch a movie. I brought my kids over and once all of hers and mine were in bed, we settled in together on her couch in front of the television. We had not yet even made love and were really still getting to know each other but had obviously become comfortable, and we were beginning to become physically affectionate. I lay down and she snuggled up in front of me. She was so sweet and tiny. She fit perfectly into a spoon. I heard her sigh and knew that she was feeling cozy and romantic. I felt the same way. Then I heard her breathing even out and I knew she had fallen asleep. I knew she would. She had already informed me that she never made it through a movie. I felt her wiggle in closer to me and sort of wrap her bum cheeks around one of my legs. No sooner had we become just so comfortable when the gentlest, oh-so-delicate, almost inaudible rumbling of a fart warmed my leg. An early test of my staying power, to be sure! She was embarrassed and in her hallmark little-girl whine stumbled over the excuse that she was sleeeeeeeping! "Mmmmmnnnnngghh". I thought it was hilarious which did little to forestall her embarrassment. At least she knew I was not so easliy offended and that it had no repercussions on my attraction to her. I had passed the first test. Little did I know that that was only the beginning of what would prove to be a full-fledged career of her slumbering scent-production. It's like her belly is a swimming pool and sleep is the lifeguard. As soon as sleep arrives, it promptly announces, "Alright, everybody out! Out! Oh no, not the way you came in. Everybody out this back way here!" Fortunately, in terms of well matched couples, her night-time flatulence is only outmatched by mine during the day.

See you in hell,
Shakes.

Snippets

Since Marianne and I became a couple, life has been . . . different. With her three kids (aged 12, 8 and 6) mixed with my three kids (aged 12, 8 and 6) we are a virtual Brady Bunch. Well, a similar Brady Bunch, sans gorgeous upper-middle class suburban home, live-in maid, and ridiculously positive outlook on life. Nevertheless, our house is filled with buoyancy and humour at all times thanks to the plethora of youthful innocence, teenage brooding, and adult cynicism that is the uniquely irreverent and unorthodox tenor of our family and parenting-style. The following are a few samples.

At the Beach:
Camille: Hey Dave! Is this a fossil?
Dave: Yes Camille! Millions and millions of years ago, that was also a rock.

Studying Planets:
Camille: We've been learning about the planets in school.
MJ: What's your favourite planet, Millie?
Camille: Uranus (pronouncing it 'your anus')
Dave: *snicker* I don't think people pronounce it that way.
Camille: Dave, is there a DisneyLand on Uranus?
Dave: Ooooooooooooh yeah!

Self-deprecating Irony:
Dave: It's like one of those situations where a woman sets herself up to be insulted by asking something like, 'Do these pants make me look fat?'
MJ: I would never ask you if something made me look fat! Do I look stupid!?

Pregnancy, Genetics, and Ears That Stick (Waaaaaay) Out:
MJ: I took a 'Which Disney character are you?' quiz on facebook and the answer came back as Dumbo.
Dave: Baaaaa-ha-ha-ha-ha! EARS!
MJ: Uhh, those ears have now officially been introduced into your gene pool, Sweetheart!
Dave: Oh great. My genetic legacy has now become soiled for generations. A long line of descendants will be depicted in photos as years and years of ears and ears!

First Words and Pronunciation:
Milo: Lookit-at dis Daddy! Ponember when we firss watch dis movie? It was called Lego Star Wars II and it had a big huge 'mongous Minja Turtle in it!

Fear and Respect:
I heard this one as I was lying in my bedroom mid-afternoon with the window open. Rory was talking to some 'friends' who were encouraging him to do something about which he obviously didn't feel comfortable. He was unaware that I was within earshot and what he said is a testimonial to his good character and respectfulness.
Rory: Uuuuh. I don't think that's a good idea. I don't think my Dad would approve.
Bad Kid: Come on Rory. Your Dad will never know.
Rory: Ha! Unlikely. You can deal with my Dad's wrath. He may not look very big, but I assure you, it's a baaaaaad idea to fuck with my Dad.

Unwelcome Revelations:
On an early date with MJ we went skating and ran into a long-time friend of hers whose name was Tracy, I think.
Tracy: Well it's a pleasure to meet you Dave. After all the guys MJ's dated it's nice to finally meet a nice one.
Dave: "ALL" the guys? That sounds very much like a collective noun.
MJ (a bright shade of red): TRAAAAACYY! There hasn't been that many!!

Crafts and Refuse:
Camille: Look at these figurines Dave. Aren't they pretty?
Dave: OMG, Camille. Put those disgusting things back in the garbage. They look like they're covered in mold, for crying out loud. My god, you've got to stop picking things out of the garbage!
Camille: . . . but I painted these today in class . . .
Dave: Ooooooooh. Uh, yeah, right. They're great. Wow. You did a, uh, great job, hon. I just, uh, thought, uh, you know what? Just go show them to your mother. I love you, honey.

Messy Kids and Bad Parenting:
Dave: Dear God, Milo! You're a mess! What's all over your face?
Milo: There's some spaghetti sauce, some paint and glue from school today, and there's probably some dirt.
Dave: Oh, well then. There you have it. Very well. Carry on.
Marianne (from the other room): MAKE HIM WASH HIS FACE!

Messy Kids and Bad Parenting 2:
Milo returns to the dinner table from upstairs.
Marianne: Where were you, Milo?
Milo: In the bathroom.
Marianne: Did you go pee?
Milo: Yes.
Marianne: Did you wash your hands?
Milo: No.
Marianne: Dave, can you please deal with this?
Dave: I'm sorry. What's going on?
Marianne: Milo went pee and didn't wash his hands.
Dave: Well, did you pee on your hands Milo?
Milo: No.
Dave. Very well. Carry on.
Marianne: MAKE HIM WASH HIS HANDS!

Neat Hair:
Camille (looking like a bag-lady): I was upstairs brushing my hair.
Dave: With what? . . . a branch?

Toothaches:
Aiden woke up one morning with a cheek like a chipmunk. I pointed it out to Marianne and she dismissed it by saying that he always wakes up 'puffy'. I encouraged her to look again and she had to admit that something was amiss. A trip to the dentist revealed that he had an abscessed tooth and he was prescribed antibiotics. They seemed to do the job but slowly. Some three weeks later as Marianne was brushing Aiden's teeth, she pulled a sizable chunk of plastic out of Aidens' mouth. They had the following conversation:
Marianne: Aiden! What is this?
Aiden: Oooooh yeah. That's what the dentist was trying to get out. I wondered what happened to that.
Marianne: This has been in your mouth for three weeks!?
Aiden: Weeeell, I was walking home with my mouth open and it just flew in there. I forgot about it.
Marianne: (laughing but concerned) And you just left it there, didn't try to get it out or even think about it the next day when you had a swollen face and a toothache!?
Aiden: I fooorgooooooot about it!
Dave: What have you been brushing your teeth with? . . . a branch?

Birthday Social Suicide:
Camille (who knows full well what squash is): Can we have squash instead of hotdogs at my birthday party?
Marianne: Uuuuuh, ooooookay, but I don't know if any of your guests will want to come.

Difficulties with Math:
Dave: An eight-year-old might say that.
Marianne: (trying to be rhetorically sarcastic) Yeah, maybe if they were born a century ago!

Culturally Uncultured:
Marianne (to Asian parking attendant): How much is that?
Attendant: (thick Asian accent) Wun dolla.
Marianne (turning to me to ask for change and inadvertently imitating the attendant's accent perfectly, who could hear every word): WUN DOLLA!
Dave: Dear god that was rude! Aren't you half-Asian!?
Marianne: (turning red) Chinese people don't care. They're used to it.
Dave: She was Korean. They're not ALL Chinese.

Dishonesty, Movie Allusions, British Titles, and Pregnancy:
Dave: . . . and if you think your little gambits for lying fool us Megan, you are sorely mistaken because I assure you that I have a PhD in lying and manipulation, and if you want to meet an even greater source of deceptive talent, (pointing at Marianne) I invite you to talk with Lord Vader herself.
Marianne: I'm not a Lord. I'm a . . . what would the wife of a Lord be?
Megan: A Duchess.
Dave: NO! That would be for a Duke! The female of 'Lord' is 'Lady'.
Megan: Well what's the male of a Baroness?
Dave: As in the male of actrESS or waitrESS!? I'll give you three guesses!
Marianne: A Count?
Dave: No! Baron!
Marianne: Well I'm pregnant! How right do ya expect me to be!?

Bad Parenting and Childhood Justice:
On one occasion, after Camille lost a tooth, she asked Marianne to keep it under care until we were at home and she could put it safely under her pillow for the Tooth Fairy. Marianne, of course, promptly lost the tooth. The following letter was found under Camille's pillow.
Dear Tooth Fairy,
My mom threw my tooth in the garbage by accident and I was very sad.
Love, Camille.

Learning to Read and Wishful Thinking:
Camille is a real garbage picker. Once in the midst of her learning to read, she was sitting in the backseat of the van inspecting an advertisement for a Garage Sale, which she slowly sounded out as, "GaaaaarrBaaage Sale". Marianne and I were hysterical with laughter.

Theatrical Credit Due:
I doubt I can do this one justice in prose text so you will have to use your visual imagination to try and picture the moment. Blair, shirtless and wearing only pajama bottoms, came bolting into the upstairs bathroom one night while I was brushing my teeth. He laid down some trifle of humour which escapes my memory and then bolted out again. Whatever he had said caused me to do a toothpaste spit-take of laughter into the mirror. Recognizing that his comedic raconteurship had been well appreciated, he decided to take a much deserved bow in true Christopher theatrical style. Now here is where you have to really picture it. He twice skimmed sideways past the bathroom door which framed my brief image of him, both times repeatedly bowing while running and saying,
"Sank you, sank you. I'll be here all week."

See you in hell,
Shakes.