Snore

Is it the weekend yet? Why is it that some weeks seem to be mercilessly long and filled with tasks and others seem to blow by you with the speed of Christina Aguilera picking up an urban accent?

Einstein once explained the theory of relativity thusly:

If you spend an hour with a pretty girl it feels like a minute. If you spend a minute with your hand on a hot stove, it feels like an hour. That is relativity.

Well, this week I’ve had my hand on the stove.

It’s not that it’s been a bad week. Far from it. I’ve had some great times with Gertrude and Matilda. Matilda and I watched Cody Banks, who I think she feels is cute, and my cell phone was a spy gadget. Now I’m cool. Gert and I played and ate a candy apple together. Perhaps, though, my highlight with her was when I went to the store and she was standing in our front window smiling and waving to me.

Sometimes they just make your heart melt.

And sometimes you want to sell them to the gypsies. Like when they’re rolling on the floor tearing out each other’s hair over a stuffed bunny. Not just any stuffed bunny, but the one that Matilda hasn’t touched in six years that Gert found and was holding. It becomes a steel cage death match until I confiscate the bunny and send it to Siberia. That one was considered a draw. But I can see in their eyes that they are waiting for a moment to crown a champion. My money is on Matilda. Not because of strength or cunning, but because she has more bargaining chips. She gets her way with the baby by saying, “Do you want to play in my room?”

The baby loses every time.

On the spousal front (holy crap, spousal is a word . . . who knew?) we watched The Two Towers and discovered a glitch in our disc. Now I have to go exchange it.

We loved the movie, of course. And I like it even more than when I saw it in the theater (honestly I was disappointed in the theater, since I had just reread the book . . . a mistake not to be repeated).

But after watching the film I want to put legislation through banning guns in favor of swords. I want to go to my local sword maker and get a nice broadsword and carry it around in a sheath at my side. I also propose that capes and masks come back in style. They’ll look much cooler than those stupid leather dusters country fans were wearing a few years ago.

Then, if I don’t like my service at Taco Bell I can threaten to “run through” the stupid clerk. Get into an accident? Fight to the death.

Plus, if I had a sword I could speak differently. “Alas! The winds of trepidation blow from the west. Thusly I cannot join you at the bar this fine evening. Perhaps again in a fortnight?”

I wonder if I could shave with a sword. I’ll have to try.

Anyway, if everyone had a sword, I think we’d be nicer to each other. After all, all you’d have to do is place your hand on the hilt and your conversation partner would say, “Whoa! There is no need to overreact! Perhaps another glass of (mead, ale, sack) will please your addled mind!”

In fact, let’s do away with Renaissance Fairs and have Medieval Fairs. I’ll go as Lancelot and my wife Margery Kemp. Where everyone stops bathing, carries brutal weaponry and eats and drinks until they pass out. And, perhaps, we can quarantine people who have the plague. Great fun will be had by all, I promise.

Seriously.

Okay, fine. Go watch Animal House. See if I care! I’ll run you through you crusty knave!

Discuss