Reader Andrea wrote:
I’ve checked the Lexicon glossary twice – twice! – and need more info on self-united husbands.
This summer I acquired two from the Pirates (stop making that noise, yo) Brandon Moss and Ross Ohlendorf.
The opening game of Pens season in Sweden, as the puck was about to be dropped, I said “ohhh – where’s Hal Gill? He’s my hockey husband this year!” (because Ryan Malone left me without nary a look down his crooked nose and went south).
My oldest daughter said “how many husbands can you have?”
I said “one from each sport, I think. And since I decline any in golf, NASCAR, soccer, wrestling or professional swimming, I can take extra in hockey and baseball.”
“You’re making this up as you go, aren’t you?” my real-life husband asked.
The answer to “how many husbands can you have” is this question: “how many husbands can you handle and keep them from killing each other?”
If you can handle 100, have 100. As for me, four is about all I can take.
Just the other day my imaginary husbands and I were trying to make dinner when things went south as Dougie M. was chopping the hell out of some vegetables and started shouting at Daniel Sepulveda who was sitting at the table across the room reading the Psalms and resting his knee. “Hey, you! Get to work. There are potatoes over here that need to be peeled. Let’s go, let’s go, let’s go!”
But Daniel didn’t hear him because he had the Gaither Vocal Band up too loud on his iPod.
That’s when Dougie threw a carrot at his head but accidentally hit David Conrad who was practicing his death scene for when he dies on the Ghost Whisperer. David picked the carrot up off of the floor and looked over at me and Dougie all, “Forsooth. Thou leathern-jerkin, crystal-button, knot-pated, agatering, puke-stocking, caddis-garter, smooth-tongue, Spanish pouch! I engage you in fisticuffs!”
Matt Lamanna, who had been busy outside with the grill, walked in to find David and Dougie whipping vegetables at each other while Daniel was still oblivious, singing at the top of his lungs, “I’m just a sinner saved by graaaaaaaaace!”
Matt rolled his eyes, turned to me and said, “Dippy is smarter than these three combined, and his brain is the size of my fist. And also, he’s a statue.”
I can’t argue with that.