In attempting to regain my sense of humour and get back into the blogging groove, for the month of May, I’m going to be blogging about the vast topic “Things That Amuse Me”….
I would be remiss if I didn’t write about Mr. Northern-Town and how he amuses me. No one can make me laugh like he does and he puts up with me – so that’s amusing to me 🙂
*He rarely, if ever, flinches when I exclaim “I’ve just had THE BEST idea….”
*He is a willing participant in my healthy experiments – A couple of years ago, I asked him to go vegan for a month to see how he felt. (Hungry, he felt hungry)
He is kind:
July 2002 was scorching hot and I had been pregnant with our only child for approximately 5 years; we found ourselves walking for miles to try to dislodge the tenant when we passed an ice-cream store. “This is perfect!” I exclaimed, “I need to use the washroom and the baby needs an ice cream cone.” We entered a very quaint old-fashioned ice cream store and I asked to use the facilities. The store clerk warned me that it was an extremely narrow room. They both watched as I entered bathroom, said nothing as I backed out of the very narrow single stall bathroom, still kept quiet as I turned around to back into the extremely narrow single stall bathroom. When I emerged, Mr. N-T had a double chocolate ice-cream cone and tissue ready to dry my eyes. Only much later did he tell me my muffled sobs could be heard throughout the store.
He doesn’t keep grudges:
Through a series of unfortunate events, I accidentally lit his head on fire and then added insult to injury by kicking him out of the way so I could flee to safety.
It’s not as bad as it sounds and I still consider myself mostly blameless.
We had made friends with a hairdresser who specialized in hair extensions. She wanted to branch out to the Caucasian market and I booked both of us an appointment so she could experiment. It was the summer of ’99, we had no kids, no responsibilities, and no reason not to have long braided hair.
The position that he held at the time required him to wear a hard hat which rubbed against his braids and his natural hair began to poke through. We called up the stylist and she instructed us to cut the braids up to where the natural hair began to poke out and then seal up the braid by using a lighter to melt the “fake” hair. It sounded like a reasonable solution. Armed with dogged determination, scissors and an extra robust lighter, I set to work.
What we forgot to take into account was the highly flammable anti-itch spray we had both been using because hot damn! beauty can be painful.
I sat on the couch and he sat on the floor directly in front of me. I took a deep breath and cut the first braid. Then holding the lighter in one hand and the freshly cut braid in the other, I sparked the lighter and watched in horror as his head lit up.
Instinctively, I placed one foot on his back and vaulted across the room before he knew what was going on. The man on fire had to stop, drop, roll and frantically pat the flames out while I rocked back and forth in the corner of the room.
Much later, when the smoke settled and we untangled the charred remains of the hair, he graciously accepted my apology and much much later allowed me to share the story. He doesn’t mind that I collapse with laughter half-way through the telling and he has to finish what I started.
He really is a keeper ❤