That Amazing Man 'o' Mine

Is it possible to drown in your own sweat? I really wanna know. The Amazing Bob and I might be at risk, don'cha know.

Last evening I crankily came inside after my mostly unsuccessful attempt to snatch a passing, desultory, sea breeze, to find TAB in his big recliner, wilted. Seriously wilted. I thundered at that poor man "I want you up in the AC (in our bedroom) and not in this heat, young man! Get a move on. Stat!"

I was Yes Deared and way-slower-than-instantly obeyed for my caring efforts. TAB isn't quite as big of a heat weenie as yurs truly. As I walked upstairs to our cool, if not quite Arctic, boudoir, I stomped my foot, tossed him a stern look, underscoring my loving concern with a sharp "dammit!"

For that I earned another beautiful Yes Dear and a grin. The man just doesn’t take me seriously, I tells ya! Dammit.

God, I love him.
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If TAB and I'd had kiddles SURELY the boy would have been named Reptilicus Cochise Mars Grant and the girl would have been Mothra K'abel Kali Grant.

Why?

TAB and I both feel that it's important for a child to have a brill start in life — right from the womb. What better way than with a name that speaks power and strikes fear in the hearts of burly, bully boy, jocks and malevolent kindergarten nuns (AKA Sister Heinous Evilness)?

Hmmm?

OK, TAB wasn’t taking this quite as hard core serious as me. He suggested that our dear Reptilicus should have a rather less than anxiety inspiring middle moniker.

Reptilicus Cream Cheese Grant. Somehow that doesn’t quite trigger elevated angst and awe levels in my soul.

For our dear, imaginary, Mothra? “Eaten.” Yes. As in Moth(ra) Eaten Grant.

Nope, my beloved partner of nearly three decades is just not taking this molto importante issue seriously.

sigh.

Everything is negotiable. Whether or not the negotiation is easy is another thing.

~ Carrie Fisher