One of the continually entertaining aspects of my gorgeous wife is her insistence on "exactification". For instance, she might claim that I totally made that word up. Of course I did, but that is besides the point.
She would have made an excellent lawyer. She has a near-photographic memory when pinot grigio is not involved, had a wonderful grasp on language only occasionally punctuated with a sentence ending in a preposition and she remembers every damn word I say. It's a really, really good thing that I am not a liar.
She also has trouble detecting my levity when I attempt to pass off a 100% ridiculous statement as fact. "Really? Benjamin Franklin played the theromin?" she once said in a story I just totally made up. Because of this, I call her "Literal Sally". It's one of the more endearing nicknames I've given her, and, likely the only nickname that won't result in my murder if published on Bonzer T's Home Skillet.
The other night, we were laying on our bed watching something on the DVR and the playoffs were about to begin. I told her as much, she sighed and said, "Ok, you can watch your sports".
Now, Krishni considers herself a bit of a sports widow. It's no secret that I have some silly passions: pie, cartoons on Fox, Christmas, Disney World, The Gilmore Girls, porn, etc. And yes, sports is one of those passions. For her benefit, I do have a schedule worked out:
April-October: White Sox Baseball
October to December: Notre Dame football
January: The good college football teams
January to June: The Bulls
One day in the middle of February (TBD): Krishni
Ok, that's a bit of an exaggeration. For instance, in the 183 calender days between April and September, the White Sox only have 162 games. Plus the playoffs. Sometimes.
Back to the other night. As I was leaving our bedroom, she said "Enjoy your boys playing with balls". Before you think this was a sophomoric, "Mike Jacklich-style" joke, I assure you it was not. This one was pure Literal Sally. She was genuinely referring--not to nut-sacks--but to the physical act of grown gentlemen on the worlds stage, locked in athletic battle, in HD, taking a spherical object and thrusting it through a circular object.
It is only fair that she called my television program "Boys Playing with Balls" as I have nicknamed her favorite shows that are on constantly: "Bones", I like to call "Pretty People Solve Crimes" and "Grey's Anatomy" I like to refer to as "Pretty People Perform Surgery." Lately she's been watching "Ally McBeal", or, as I like to call it, "Freakishly Skinny People Having Sex With Each Other And Occasionally Take Some Time To Argue In Court. And Dancing. They Like to Dance."
It was really only a matter of time before she named one of my shows. When she told me to go watch my boys playing with balls, I paused and had a "Literal Sally" moment of my own: "They only play with one ball. Wouldn't 'Boys playing with
ball' be the more appropriate name?" "No", she countered, "there are many balls on the court for warm-ups." This makes sense; if a ball deflates, the whole crowd doesn't just go home...they just get another ball from a rack. "But wait a minute," I said, "there is only one ball in play at any given time. As the clock ticks, there is only one ball that matters." "You're stupid" she said.*
We argued about this probably longer than we should have before I went off to watch the Bulls hang on for a game 5 victory.
So, I put it to you, dear readers of the Home Skillet: which is it? "Boys with Balls" or "Boys with Ball"? Take the poll in the upper-right hand corner at let us know your thoughts on the worlds dumbest argument.
*
No she didn't
