Two Funny Conversations and a Scary One.

My poor husband - As you can see from this cartoon, which I did not draw but wish I had, he gets so much shit from me!

We were driving down our street the other day and I pointed out that the new people who’d moved into the rundown corner house, the house with a tragic history that’s been more or less abandoned for several years, had put an elaborate fountain in the front yard. It’s a piece of cheap sculpture, actually, a naked woman pouring water from a pitcher over her upturned face. The water runs over her chest and abdomen into a basin.

Conversation No. 1:

Me: Oh my god, look at that fountain. Can you believe they put it there?

Hubby, turning his head in the direction indicated: Nice breasts!

Me: What? I’m talking about the fountain.

Hubby: Me too.

Me, braking now to stare at the fountain, sputtering: But…but…it’s in that yard, surrounded by waist high weeds and rotting stumps, and…and toadstools!

Hubby: Yeah, but she has nice breasts.

Me, staring at hubby: It’s a fountain.

Hubby: A fountain with nice breasts.

Me, in a shrill voice: It’s made of plaster!

Hubby: But she has the kind of breasts I like, small and pert.

Me: Oh my god, we’re talking about a crappy piece of art work in a yard filled with garbage.

Hubby: A crappy piece of art work with nice breasts. I like it.

One. Track. Mind.

I sleep naked. The puppy sleeps on the floor, one of the cats sleeps between my husband and myself. The cat won’t leave the bed in the morning because the puppy immediately pounces on him and tries to get him to play, puppy-style. Doesn’t work.

Conversation No. 2:

Me: Honey, can you come up and get the cat? I’m naked.

Hubby: What?

Me: Can you come get the cat? I’m naked.

Hubby: What?

Me, tossing back the covers and picking up the cat, walking to the top of the stairs: Honey, can you come get the cat? I’m naked.

Hubby, walking to the bottom of the stairs, looks up: You’re naked. (He grins a wicked grin) And you’re wearing a cat.

I look down. The fluffy cat has somehow managed to cover all my exposed vulnerable parts.

Later that day...

Hubby arrives home from work, tosses his computer bag onto the couch and bends me back over his arm. He kisses me passionately and whispers: I’ve been thinking about you wearing that cat all day long. I’ll leave the rest to your imagination, but let me assure you, the cat was not involved. (You gotta love this guy!)

The scary conversation.

I was walking my dog yesterday afternoon at my favorite wilderness park. Wednesday afternoons, the park tends to fill up with families and teens - at least along the more accessible trails. I stick to the backside. I ran into a man I’ve met before. He’s from Mexico. He speaks some English, although his very nice golden retriever only speaks Spanish.

Conversation No. 3:

Him: Hola, where’s su husband?

Me: Working.

Him: He should be here with you.

Me, watching the dogs play (dog language is universal): shrug

Him: I run into an evil man. I tell my sons. They big, hard men. They come kick his ass.

Me: What happened?

Him: He tol’ me he gon’ kill my dog. That he can kill my dog.

Me: Oh, hey, I ran into him too, like six months ago. He said he’d shoot my dog.

Him: A white man?

Me: Yeah, a middle-aged white man.

Him: He a racist.

Me: Maybe. Or maybe he’s just mean. I called the cops.

Him: I put a curse on the fuckin’ bastard. One day, he gon’ get his. (pause) I cursed a man one time. He die of pneumonia. I run into his father and he say…I don’ know why my son sick, he too young to be sick. (nods) But I know why he die, he die because he a bastard who do bad things and he deserve to die, just like this man. You should not be here alone. He might find you.

Me: I’m not worried. I’ll call the cops again.

Him, shaking his head: No, the cops do nuthin’. I put big curse on him. You wait, he gon’ die.

Me: Okay, if you say so.

Him, nodding again: You can believe me. I from the mountains. I live one time in the jungles in Brazil with a medicine man. This bad white man, he gon’ die soon.

Me getting chills up my spine.

Him: Your dog look like a Brazilian wolf. I like this dog. He esta very brave. He protect you. I send my sons to look for this man. They kick his ass, but they not kill him, the curse, it will kill him. It will bite him one day when he not looking.

He reached for my hand and turned it over, rubbed some dirt into my wrist. Him: This keep you invisible to him.

He headed down the trail we’d just came up, while I returned to my car, unmolested. You know what? I totally believe him. I believe in curses and the power of a shaman.

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