At our Wednesday Night Dinner, we discuss everything. The conversations usually start out with something mild and tame. By the end of the night, and a couple of bottles of wine later, the conversations can get a little raunchy. This week we joked about needing a pod cast of the whole event. The thing is, however, that we would either need to shoot ourselves from the neck down or blur out our faces. We have been known to dish a little dirt that others might not like. In addition we think we are funny; most people would just think we are drunk and ridiculous (think designated driver...how many of you like to sit around and watch a bunch of drunk people act crazy). The idea to pod cast the whole event usually happens at the end of the night, after the last drop of wine has been poured. A better idea would be to tape record (can you still buy a tape recorder?) the whole night, then to blog a few of the funnier conversations.
This week, our topic started out with the presidential campaigns. Dear hubs was trying to convince the girls that our tendency to vote based on moral issues is wrong. I still don't understand his arguement, so I can't even begin to tell it here. The conversation that night ended with a story from our dinner guests about their recent vacation and a gag that they witnessed on the airplane, which involed a large fushcia toy of a raunchy nature (please...please use your imagination, as I can not write out the actual item - if you need assistance in visualizing the toy, please sing the following "baum, chicka, baum, baum").
Somewhere between politics and toys, we talked about how I was feeling with 6 weeks left to go in my pregnancy. I mentioned that I was feeling uncomfortable now. Here was the hubs response to that, "Why? My belly's bigger than yours? You don't hear me complaining about carrying it around and having to sleep with it."
I have chosen to forgive him, as he was under the influence of wine and another male in the vicinity. When I saw through his drunken haze, I could almost see a gorilla beating his hands on his chest.
This week, our topic started out with the presidential campaigns. Dear hubs was trying to convince the girls that our tendency to vote based on moral issues is wrong. I still don't understand his arguement, so I can't even begin to tell it here. The conversation that night ended with a story from our dinner guests about their recent vacation and a gag that they witnessed on the airplane, which involed a large fushcia toy of a raunchy nature (please...please use your imagination, as I can not write out the actual item - if you need assistance in visualizing the toy, please sing the following "baum, chicka, baum, baum").
Somewhere between politics and toys, we talked about how I was feeling with 6 weeks left to go in my pregnancy. I mentioned that I was feeling uncomfortable now. Here was the hubs response to that, "Why? My belly's bigger than yours? You don't hear me complaining about carrying it around and having to sleep with it."
I have chosen to forgive him, as he was under the influence of wine and another male in the vicinity. When I saw through his drunken haze, I could almost see a gorilla beating his hands on his chest.
2 comments:
My husband would DIE if he said something like that!!!! (of course my belly has been bigger than his for 5 1/2 years! LOL)
Men! They just don't understand what the pregnant body has to endure.
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