I am home sick today. I have the plague (again) and it is awful. (I will be at the doctor in under an hour, which is why I am typing because I am attempting to sit upright again.)
Earlier today, I made a video of the cats with my phone. When one is bound to one's bed, there is only so much available for entertainment. Around lunch, I forwarded the cat video to The Boy. Honestly, I forgot that I sent it because the video was not particularly exciting and The Boy ignores most of my emails anyway because either (a) I am not funny or (b) he is busy.
Time passes. My phone begins playing the Batman theme song. The Boy is calling! To check on his sickly wife! How sweet!
The conversation goes something like this. (Although, let's be honest, the plague is killing me, so I am likely paraphrasing most, if not all of this. This does have the general flavor of the call even if the words aren't exactly right.)
Boy: Hi.
Me: <garbled sickly moan>
Boy: Guess what just happened?
Me: <looking for the light> I died?
Boy: No. Remember that video you sent me?
Me: <thinking hard> Yes.
Boy: Well, I know you do these things just to spite me, so I hope your happy.
Me: What?
Boy: I start to play your stupid video and I turned on my speakers. Somehow, I hit the phone and hit "all call" into the office on speakerphone. So, the entire office heard you cooing at your stupid cats. Wanna know the best part?
Me: <No response due to laughter>
Boy: There were clients in the conference room and THEY HEARD IT TOO.
Me: <still unable to respond>
Boy: So then, X & Y walk in and say, um, what was that? I explain that it was a video that you sent me. Then, they ask me if it was a porno because you were saying "Good Boy." I showed them your stupid cat video to prove it. THERE WERE CLIENTS IN THE CONFERENCE ROOM. YOU ONLY SEND ME THESE STUPID VIDEOES BECUASE YOU ARE TRYING TO TORMENT ME. I HATE YOU."
Me: <still unable to respond due to laughter>
Boy: [more generic declarations of hate and paranoia.]
Me:
Needless to say, I quickly received an ex parte communication from a friend at The Boy's firm to ensure that I knew what happened. Of course, I sent her a voice note (gotta love the BlackBerry) saying Good Boy, The Boy, Good Boy, just in case she wants to use it at a later date when he is being difficult.
In conclusion, I'm hilarious even when I don't try. That's the sign of a true gift.
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