Hubby has been cooking this evening. He’s now making dinner, but earlier it was a low-carb pumpkin bake thingie.
After his earlier effort, he is now well into his habit of talking to things that aren’t able to answer.
Shall I type up some of the nonsense he is saying? Yes, yes I will:
O M G, W T F, B B Q! (Yes he said each letter)
Well, I’m talking to chicken now, brilliant! (This is because I was teasing him about being the Man Who Talks to Cheese)
Nothing for cats! (He’s cutting up raw chicken; we give the good bits to the cats and whatever is left to the dog)
Spotty, watch your little paw, fucking hell cat! Spotty! Fucking hell dog-cat-whatever-your-name-is.
Not much for kitties but I’m working on it.
Shhh, I’m coming (whispered to Lokii who also never shuts up) shhh, bits for kitties… Shhh
Oh it’s gonna be less than…oh (garbled) seven minutes…it’s okay. Shhh, coming. (I think this means he heard me light a smoke, which takes me 7 minutes to finish. It was oddly silent so he could hear the lighter spark)
Just wait, alright? Coming. (To Lokii, again) shhh.
Spotty watch your little paw, I’m cutting stuff. Heeeeeeeeee. (Very unmanly giggle)
That’s my fucking hand, you idiot! Sure didn’t the baby Jesus tell you not to bite the hand that feeds you? Sure no he didn’t.
More for cats, nearly gone…
Alright Spotty that’s it, I’m not going through all this goop. A little more. Oh, Spotty! You want more? That’s it, that’s it. (Calling for the dog) Neko! Oh Spotty you want more? There is no more! Here take that, for fuck’s sake cat! Here.
I’m not spending the evening cutting up human food for cats! Okay Mrs (me), any time you are ready! (Because I’m in charge of the sauce part)
Hope you enjoyed a little glimpse into what it is like to live with a man who talks CONSTANTLY.
Love you anyway, iDJ!