While my husband Danny drives us down the highway after our Valentine date, I wax philosophical. Philosophy is not one of Danny’s strong suits.
Me: I wish I could get over the whole, “I want everyone to like me,” thing.
Danny: So do I.
Me: I bet I’m not the only writer who has friends that don’t understand. Like Dave Barry. I bet some people don’t like Dave Barry.
Danny: I don’t know. Dave Barry seems like a pretty likable guy.
Me: Yeah well, What about Erma Bombeck?
Danny: Isn’t she dead?
Me: Or Stephen King. I bet he gets all kinds of crap from some of his friends.
Both of us: Silent for a minute.
Me: Ponders other writers that may get hated on from time to time. Not expecting a sound from Danny since I figured he was thinking about one of the other “S’s” – sex or sports.
Danny: What about Jesus? Some people didn’t like him.
Me: Oh my God! Of course! Jesus! I mean like, he was the son of God and he still had people in his life that hated on him. Why didn’t I think of Jesus? Duh. Of course he wasn’t a writer, but…
Danny: Laughing. Tears stream down his cheeks as he slows in the left lane. He was born with blocked tear ducts and it doesn’t take much to open the floodgates.
Me: Laughing. You’re slowing down.
Danny: Laughs hysterically. Doesn’t respond or speed up.
Me: Laughing: You have to speed up! We are going to get killed.
Danny: Laughing and wiping tears from his eyes and having a hard time catching his breath. I can’t see.
Me: Laughing. Get it the right lane!
Danny: Still laughing. Frantically wipes tears with sleeve of his leather coat. I can’t see to turn into the right lane.
Me: Jesus Danny! You are driving 40 miles per hour on the highway! We’re going to die!
Afterthought: We made it home, but are going straight to hell.
It’s Saturday morning and I am pouring my first cup of coffee while Danny reads the newspaper.
Me: I have to go to France to finish my book even if I have to go by myself for a couple of days.
Danny: There’s no way I am letting you go by yourself.
Danny: Because you will get into trouble and I won’t be there to bail you out.
Me: I won’t get into trouble. Well, yeah, maybe….
Danny: You’re like a little kid. You would be like, “Oh wow! I think these people dressed in strange clothing look like fun. I think I will follow them down this dark alley.” You would find yourself in the deepest darkest place in France.
Me: Laughing. Like a little kid? Okay, maybe I am like that.
Afterthought: You better save your money Danny.
Was Danny remembering this night in Downtown Los Angeles?
Can you remember your funny conversations?