Mr. Fixit and I have always had “unusual” conversations at times due to perhaps language problems, inattentiveness, his hearing loss, and my general weirdness. It seems to be getting worse as we age.
Today he asked me if I wanted to go with him to get his hair cut. I said I would go along for the ride, but I would wait for him in the car and read. “Give me a minute to change clothes.”
“Why do you need to change clothes if you are going to sit in the car?” he asked.
I said, “If we have a car accident, I want to be wearing clean clothes. Didn’t your mother ever tell you about that?” His response was a roll of his eyes. I guess his mother forgot to give him that sage advice.
I changed into a pair of light blue jeans and a matching shirt. As we started out the driveway, I noticed a dark spot on my jeans. “Darn it! There’s a spot on my jeans and I wanted to wear these to the ball game tonight.”
He said, “It looks like a booger.”
I replied in my best offended and self-righteous tone, “I’ll have you know, I never wipe boogers on my pants.”
He said, “Maybe you sneezed and a booger flew out.”
“I never sneeze out boogers—a little snot maybe, but not boogers.”