Sometimes the Silence is Golden

Under normal circumstances, I usually don’t run out of grammatically incorrect ways to string words together and call them sentences until at least Wednesday night.  And tonight is Monday night — ONLY MONDAY NIGHT! — and my reservoir of words seems to be sucked dry and fully depleted.

Which, of course, thrills Hubs completely because I may have mentioned once or nineteen times that Hubs is a fan of just being quiet together while the commentators for the Colorado Avalanche do all the talking.

However, he’ll make an exception for any sudden shouts of victory, in which the shouter must jump up from the sofa, with both arms extended above his head, as he yells, “YEESSSSS!” at the top of his lungs.  Acts like this terrify both of our cats, and they end up hiding behind curtains for hours.  We know this to be true, because we didn’t see either Cat 1 or Cat 2 until dinnertime after the Broncos beat Miami in the nail-biting stretch of overtime on Sunday.

Christy called late last night, after she’d just gotten home from visiting her parents in Very-Far-Awayville, and she said, “Listen.  I need to be in Bigger Town tomorrow morning; ride up with me!”  And because I am never one to turn down an opportunity to experience a real live shopping mall or a genuine Target building, I was more than game to go.

And then I didn’t sleep AT ALL WELL last night, because apparently the wildlife, in the form of 115-pound mountain lions, have seen fit to come down from the hills and stroll through our YARD, people!

OUR.  YARD.

We knew that the Game and Fish Department was doing their part to dress in camo gear secured from a genuine Cabella’s store and stalk the critter down in the  name of Public Safety, but still!  I had just sent my one and only son outside with the garbage, as the cute neighbor boy’s mama was going on and on about how her hound dog was barking!  Just barking!  Barking up a storm at something!  And she had no idea WHAT was the recipient of all the barking!

Clearly, the Department of Family Services has nothing to worry about when I announce to the World Wide Web that my boy!  He was on the rooftop at a birthday party!  And shooting squirt guns at girls!  Because listen.  I’m pretty sure that giving my son the nod of approval to ambush a tribe of sweet girls from the roof of a garage with a water gun is simply a misdemeanor when compared to the felony of… OH!… Sending him outside with a couple of Hefty garbage bags when a mountain lion is LOOSE!

And that pretty much explains why the sleeping was so difficult for me last night, but it does nothing at all to explain Hubs’ little attitude, as he dramatically checked the locks on our deck doors and said, “Honey, the doors are locked up tight, so you’re safe!  Because we all know that rabid mountain lions LOVE to open unlocked doors with their paws and pounce their prey.”

Sometimes a girl’s Knight in Shining Armour is really just a cute and sarcastic computer whiz.

No matter.

Christy picked me up at the crack of Good Grief this morning, and we were off.  Hubs was left to get the boy to school, because we had some shopping to do in Bigger Town.  And really?  The term POWER SHOPPING does not even do our day justice, because in FOUR SHORT HOURS Christy and I went to her orthodontist appointment, worked our way from the front of Target to the back of Target, and then from the left side to the ride side of Target, and then backtracked to the middle, in case we had missed anything, and THEN turned browsing the mall into an Olympic sport, all before we hit Sam’s Club for bulk packages of Kleenex and toothpaste and discovered a little Mexican hotspot where Christy introduced me to the nine-pound burrito.

Have y’all seen a nine-pound burrito?  It’s a thing of beauty and horrid ugliness, all rolled up in one flour shell with a full pound of pica de gallo falling out the sides.

Try eating one in the car.

At one point this morning, Christy and I burst into fits of laughter that nearly made coffee shoot out my nose, because we realized that we had exactly SIXTEEN OPEN LINES OF CONVERSATION going, where we were hopping from one topic to another, and back to the first, and then off to the sixth topic, and then back to the first, at a rate that equaled a cheetah kitten on a Pixy Stix high.  Between hysterical giggles I told her, “Hubs’ eyes would have glazed over fifteen minutes ago, and he’d be nearly comatose now, if he’d had to follow our spiderwebbed conversation.”  And Christy hooted with laughter as she said, “Can you even imagine what happens when Scott and Hubs are in the truck together?  Probably miles and miles of PURE SILENCE!”

And THAT, people, is the reason that I’ll be able to sit on the sofa for a minute tonight without saying a single word and interrupting Sports Center with my usual barrage of chatter.

 

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