Aar mateys, it be Talk Like A Pirate Day, and also my anniversary. *passes around celebratory grog* I have another story time, which is completely unrelated to either of these things, because that’s just how my brain works.
I was in the shower yesterday, narrating the entire process in the fashion of a Broadway musical, as I am wont to do. Shut up. I know I’m not the only one who dramatically sing-narrates the process of leg shaving. Anyway.
I could tell there was just enough shampoo left in the bottle for one more good hair washing, but the bottle had tipped over sideways and the remaining soap had settled in the shoulder of the bottle. Frustrating (which demanded accompaniment via an operatic aria). I shook the bottle, slammed it against the heel of my palm, and repeatedly squeezed it with great vigor, intent on squeezing every last little blop of shampoo before chucking the bottle.
The noises it made were, shall we say, uncouth. Rude. Disgusting. Hilarious. My singing wilted under the strain of barely-contained laughter. And then I heard hurried footsteps approaching the bathroom. Tim ran in, panic in his voice, and demanded to know what was going on.
"What’s that noise? Is everything okay?" he demanded.
I laughed harder and held up the mostly empty bottle, giving it a few hearty farty-squeezes to demonstrate.
Tim stared, then buckled and succumbed to giddiness. “Oh my god, I thought it was the cat choking to death or something.”
So I threw the bottle at him, and spent the next ten minutes wasting an awful lot of water, not to mention all the shampoo I managed to squeeze out of that bottle, roaring with laughter and unable to do anything else.
And this is why we are celebrating our 17th anniversary today. Matey.