Sorry, Googlers

It’s Friday night, I’m home alone while Mr. Martini is out performing in his play.  I’ve watched all of "my" shows on the faux-Tivo, and I’m feeling antsy.  I’ve eaten too much sugar today, I guess.

So, I’m going to cure my boredom by posting this story.  Whether it alleviates your boredom or exacerbates it, well, that’s up to you.

Last Sunday, the day after the birthday celebrations, Mr. Martini and I were hanging out.  Goofing off, rehashing the weekend, that sort of thing.  Mr. M was teasing me (he’s very good at that, I might add).  He was rolling his eyes goofily, making fun of me for how much I was going on and on about my good day.

SpaceCase: I mean, it was awesome – presents, cake, Harry Potter discussion.

Mr. Martini: (rolls eyes, but I know he’s just goofing on me) Meow meow meow meow meow.

(OK, I have to interject something here.  My and Mr. M’s "yada yada yada" is "meow meow meow meow."  As in "You’re talking, I’m not listening, to me it just sounds like meow meow meow meow, blah blah blah blah."  It’s something he and his friends did in college, we use it now, it’s become second nature, and I find myself doing it in front of other people who have no idea what the hell I’m talking about.  Now you know.  You can stop looking at me funny.  Moving on…)

SpaceCase: (laughing) It was a really good day.

Mr. Martini: Meow meow meow meow "birthday."

SpaceCase: (hitting him playfully) Cut it out.

Mr. Martini: Meow meow meow meow "cake."

SpaceCase: The cake was good, admit it.

Mr. Martini: Meow meow meow meow "dirty whore."

Pause

SpaceCase: (confused, not really getting the joke) Um, OK.

Mr. Martini: (confused at my lack of reaction) Meow meow?  What?

SpaceCase: Geez.

Mr. Martini: What?

SpaceCase: I guess I don’t get it.

Mr. Martini: What do you think I said?

SpaceCase: "Dirty whore."

Mr. Martini: (Says nothing, instead collapses on the couch in a hysterical fit of laughter)

SpaceCase: What?

Mr. Martini: (Still says nothing, is now laughing so hard he can’t catch his breath)  Dirty whore!  Ahhahahahaha!

SpaceCase: (Hates being left out of the joke) WHAT?

Mr. Martini: (wiping tears from his eyes) Oh, that was funny.

SpaceCase: WHAT?!?

Mr. Martini: I didn’t say "dirty whore."  I said, "Thirty-four."

SpaceCase: (a moment of stunned silence, then hysterical laughter)

Mr. Martini/SpaceCase: (laughter just dying down, then…)

SpaceCase: Oh man, I thought "Wow, that really escalated."

Mr. Martini: (starts laughing all over again)

So, that was the goofy night Mr. M and I had last Sunday.  He teases me, I hear it wrong, we breakdown in hysterical laughter.  All week Mr. Martini and I have laughed and called each other "dirty whore."  Aren’t we sweet?

Apparently 34 is the year you start losing your hearing.  Good to know.