So dad had another setback. He’s in the hospital now because of blood in his urine and painful urination, likely related to the cancer, and he may need the catheter permanently. This and other bummers prompted this IM conversation between me and Devon.
me: Will you do me a favor?
Devon: what?
me: When I get home tonight, smother me with a pillow until I stop twitching.
Devon: sorry, nope
me: Oh, come on, it’s just this one little thing.
Devon: how about smother in kisses?
me: Are your lips coated in deadly toxin?
Devon: nope
me: Then that won’t work. Unless you plan to throw yourself over my face for a few very long minutes.
me: What’s a girl gotta do to get her husband to kill her around here?
Devon: see, american husbands just don’t stack up to wahabbists in saudi
Devon is deep dude…waaaaay deep. I wanna like hang out with him and stuff. I’m glad he didn’t smother you. I’d miss you ass too much. Sorry bout Dad.
Warning do not stand in front of the TV during the Superbowl, somebody might whip a Jihad on you’re head.
Talk to you later.AJ
I’m glad he won’t smoother you. See, I like you and Devon. And if he did that, well, then you’d be gone and Devon would be in jail and that would just suck big time.
TDAWG: Aren’t you due, like, in five minutes? How are you doing?
AJ: I try not to watch the Super Bowl, ever. Just to be safe.
Ellen: I think Devon could get out of jail. I believe in him.
I could get Devon out of jail, but then I would have to kill him for killing you and forever depriving me of another margarita bucket induced conversation with you by an open fire.
So how about I just buy a margarita bucket and when you get here, I will drown you (temporarily and non-lethally) in a mixture of tequila and loving support?
I suppose that will do. I will even bring the bucket.