Wednesday, December 9, 2009

Robot love, birds, and drugs

Jack got home tonight in rare form. As I was talking to him about my day, he broke out into song (it was "I want to buy these shoes," if you must know.)

"Sweetheart?" I asked, sweetly "Did you know you just interupted me?"

He stopped singing.

"Oh... Um, I got confused." he said slowly.

"Did you get confused because you weren't paying attention?"

"Correct."

Later, when he was in the kitchen making coffee, he was beeping like a robot.

Beep BOP BOOOP Beepity boop!!

"What are you doing?" I called out to him from the living room.

"Talking to my robot," he called back.

Now, a little background here, because we have this robot thing. This recurring, long-standing robot thing.

Disclaimer: we are not cool people. I know. You're shocked. Up to this point, we've appeared to be such popular people.

Anyway, back on June 24, I tweeted this conversation:

Me: "I wonder what non-nerds do in their free time." 

Jack: "I wouldn't know what nerds do in their free time." That was this morning.

This led to a conversation about who is nerdier. He thinks me. I think him.

Then, just now, I was telling him that if he and I were robots, we would still be in love. He argued and said robots couldn't feel love, to which I pouted and said OUR robots would be in love. He just looked at me, busted out laughing, and said "remember that conversation we had earlier? Yeah, it's you."  

Then, on July 3:

"Just finished Wall-E. I told him! I told Jack that robots could feel love!" 

And another on July 11 (told you there was a lot of background on this one):

"Jack: "My robot loves your robot." YESSSSSS!!!!!!!!!! FINALLY!!"

So there you have it. After 6 months of this conversation, he's talking to his robot in the kitchen. When I asked if he was telling his robot to love my robot, he said yes.

I guess I finally have him convinced.

Then again, he also just made bird noises, and told me that his bird was talking to my bird. When I told him I didn't have a bird, he said that I have a bird in my chest.

"Why is the bird in my chest, exactly?" I asked.

"Becaaaauuuuse," he responded, as if he were talking to a 5-year-old, "your ribs are like a bird cage."

Um, okay, dear.

"You know, it would make a lot of sense if I found out that you smoke pot sometimes," I said, in reply to his chest-bird theory.

"Yeah, but then you wouldn't know where my money is disappearing to!" he responded. To that, I had to laugh out loud.

"No, I'm pretty sure if you were doing drugs, you'd have it budgeted." I said.
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