"I love our bed," she said.
"I do, too."
Talk about hot, burning romance for a Valentine's Day.
But it's true. Our bed's a modern marvel. It's a ginormous king-size with an extra comfy (and quiet! You can't hear your mate roll over!) foam mattress. We have a heated blanket on top for those brutal Midwestern nights and--the new sensation that's sweeping the nation--a weighted blanket. Going to bed is like getting dozens of hugs.
"This is my favorite place," my wife said and then sighed again. Of course newlyweds may find their bed their favorite place for other reasons, but we know what true pleasure is: comfort.
"Yeah, it's my favorite place, too," I added But then a sudden thought exploded in my head. "No, wait! It's my second favorite place!"
"What could be better than this?"
"The bathroom! Duh."
My wife gave me a head smack. "You men are so dumb. Yesterday, on NPR--"
"Oh, well, if NPR says it, it has to be true," I said in the snidest of possible ways.
Head smack! Whap!
Other than the head-smack, my wife chose to ignore my childish retort. "On NPR, it came up that on average women spend five minutes to go to the bathroom. Men spend 20 minutes. 20 minutes! And that's just the average!"
Instead of knocking me down, I felt vindicated in my bathrooming habits. "Aha! See? I'm not a freak! Potty time's my quiet time!"
"Whatever... I don't want you going through hemorrhoid surgery again. The more time you spend on the toilet, the more likely that is to reoccur."
I gave it a sitting-on-the-toilet's worth of pondering. (And if you'd love to relive my hemorrhoid tale of wit and whimsy, check it out here: Assteroid Apocolypse.) I decided I didn't want to think about that end of things too much.
"I love going to the bathroom. I guess...it's kinda like a mini-man-cave. A place we can temporarily call our own, let it all out (so to speak), and just flush our worries away."
"Yeah, they hit on that on NPR, too."
"Well if NPR says it's true, then--"
"Cut it out!" I scooted a little bit closer to the edge of the bed, fearful of more retaliation. "But you never leave me alone in my mini-man-cave. You're...you're like a heat-seeking missile."
It's true, too. My wife, among possessing many other impressive talents and feats of will and brainery, knows exactly when I've nestled onto my roost upstairs. And like Lenny and Squiggy, the door suddenly cracks open loudly. "Hello!"
Then she'll discuss things that surely could wait until my pants are pulled up.
Her parting words are always wistful, dry, and haunting: "Light a candle!"
I pondered a little bit further and wondered what a future (God forbid!) job interview might sound like:
"Tell us a little bit about yourself, Mr. West."
"Well...I like to lay in our bed. A lot. It's a very, very, very comfy bed. Oh! And I like to go to the bathroom. A whole bunch. 'Cause it's quiet and relaxing." Eager smile.
Pause. The interviewer fingers his upper lip. Finally, he says, "Mr. West, you're exactly the type of man we're looking for! Welcome aboard!"
While we're on the topic of cutting-edge juvenile humor, have you guys checked out my Zach and Zora detective series? No? Whaddaya waiting for? Perfect reading for those quiet times on the toilet! The books recount the tales of a lunk-headed, but good-hearted male stripper (sorry...a "male entertainment dancer") and his seemingly always pregnant, short-tempered, but sharp private detective sister. That's Bad Day in a Banana Hammock, Murder by Massage, Nightmare of Nannies, and I'm slaving away on a forth one now!