Texting

Men of the world, heed me!

If your wife is pregnant and trying to wear an old pair of her jogging pants because she doesn’t want to admit she needs to be wearing her preggo clothes yet…

Do not, I repeat NOT, tell her she looks like the singer Meatloaf stuffed into some spandex.

You will surely vex her, such as I have vexed mine wife.

I gave up my spot in last nights raid so someone else could go.  I’ve done Lower Spire a million times and had a headache hit me all of a sudden.  Between the shitty day at work, the single parent night at home, and a grouchy ass wife who just got home from a 13 hour shift at the hospital, I was in bed by 9:40PM.  That’s a new record for me.

And she just texted me trying to be nice.  The nerve.

Wife: “Are we okay today?”
mrfenris: “If okay means I’m screwing three Brazilian swimsuit models.  Then yes.”
Wife: “Thank you.  My mind is at ease now.  I don’t think I could have handled German bikini models.”

The text message is the greatest invention since caller ID.  I HATE talking on the phone, which amuses some of my friends, since I enjoy talking a lot.  My lovely chubby wife also hates talking on the phone, so texting is the perfect form of communication.

I equate it to a grunt.

*Wife gestures towards the TV screen* “eh?”
*Husband shrugs his shoulder* “Meh.”
*Wife settles back to watch it* “Humph.”

Married couple can communicate entire conversations with a mere shrug of the shoulder and a grunt.  I love texting, since we can communicate the same way.

Wife: “Coming home for lunch?”
mrfenris: “You making me anything?”
Wife: “Yeah right.”
mrfenris: “Then no.”

No extra words needed.  No false “Hi.  How are you?  Blah blah.” Because I mean you really don’t care or you already know.  I just want an exchange of information.  I don’t want false niceties.

The world would be a much better place if people just shut the fuck up sometimes.