We had some people over Saturday night, and my dear husband had a little too much to drink. It’s been a while since he did that and I’d forgotten how belligerent he can be. When everybody left and we were bickering over chicken salad (thank you, Thomas) he began to get a little emphatic in defending his position. Except his position was NONESENSE. So I told him he was too drunk to talk to anymore. He disagreed. If I recall correctly, he told me I was “pretty good at coming up with biscuses for a person who pussosedly doesn’t even like chicken salad!” I think at this point I would be pretty justified in telling him to shut it, instead I tried to just walk away.
But Chris didn’t want to let it go. In fact, he challenged me to a lil something he called “a remembering contest.” Right there, people, that’s how toasted he was. On his BEST day, Chris couldn’t win a remembering contest with an aging goldfish.
Let’s just say I won the remembering contest because I’m the one who remembered we were having a remembering contest.
And just for old time’s sake, I’m going to throw in this additional Chris story.
Once, I woke up to a loud THUD and looked over to see chris on the floor on his hands and knees. The following is a transcript of the conversation that followed:
“Did you just fall out of bed?”
“Then why are you on the floor?”
“Dude. You just fell out of bed.”