ladysprite: (steampunk)
Actual Conversation With my Silks Instructor

(upon him learning that I am a veterinarian, and explaining that he wants a pet monkey with an improbably and unrealistic list of behaviors and skills)

Me: That's nice. I want a unicorn.
Him: Yeah, but monkeys are real.
Me: Not the one you're describing.
Him: Oh yeah? How do you know? Have you met them ALL?
Me: ......yes.
Him: Prove it. What are all their names?
Me: Dave.
Him: ALL of their names. Every monkey in the world.
Me: Nope - that's it. They're all named Dave. All of them.
Him: .......I don't want a monkey named Dave. Fine.

Yep, apparently I can out-weird circus performers. Add that to my list of questionable talents.
ladysprite: (steampunk)
Him: It's sad. Most American cryptids have boring names. They're all just 'The [Placename] monster.'
Me: Yeah, that is kind of dull.
Him: Except the Pope Lick Monster. I'll give that one points for originality.
Me: The.... WHAT?
Him: It looks like the American version of a bridge troll. Thankfully, it has nothing to do with the pope. Or licking.
Me: Aww.... :( Just when we finally have such a lickable pope, too.....

Seriously, I think my version is better.
ladysprite: (Default)
....or, Reason #987 Why My Husband And I Deserve To Be Together, If Only To Protect The Rest Of The World From Us:

Him: You know, the e-mu is really lucky - it was the only bird ready for the information age.
Me: Nuh-uh
Him: Oh, really?
Me: Yup. You forgot the iBis.
Him: groans and rolls his eyes
Me: *does a little victory dance in my seat*
The rest of the passengers on the Animal Kingdom bus: *look at us strangely and move slightly further away*
ladysprite: (Default)
.....for certain broad definitions of "conversation":

(upon watching someone on tv refer to another person as a sex bomb, much to that person's confusion)

Me: Sex bomb. You know, it's like a steak bomb, only....
Husband: *looks at me skeptically*
Me:..... *degenerates into helpless giggles, unable to complete my own sentence*
Husband: *continues to look at me skeptically*
Me: I'm sorry, I can't get past the hoagie roll...
Husband: *eyes wife, now rolling on the sofa laughing* At least it wasn't a grilled chicken bomb.
ladysprite: (MoarCat)
Conversations With My Husband Upon Watching Daytime TV While Recovering From General Anesthesia

Me: Honey? They gave me lots of drugs at the hospital.

Husband: Yes, sweetie, they did. You should rest.

Me: I'm resting, honest. But... the stuff they gave me. That can mess with my mind and perceptions, right?

Husband: Yes, it probably can. Are you okay? Do you need anything?

Me: I think I'm hallucinating.

Husband: Huh?

Me: Did they honestly just show a McDonald's commercial where all the employees were dancing around with bricks in their pants while someone sang 'I like square butts and I cannot lie,' as part of a Spongebob Squarepants happy meal tie-in?

Husband: You're not hallucinating, honey, that really happened.

Me: (*wordless whimper*) What is the point of being drugged up on valium and opiates when the everyday TV commercials are far more messed up and disturbing than anything my tripping brain can make up?

Husband: Maybe you should just take a nap....

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ladysprite

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