The Cookie Monster

After making all those lovely cookies, the husband and I were excited to pass them out. Naturally. I wanted to brag about how many hours we spent in the kitchen making and packaging those stupid cookies share the wonnderful goodness that was our Christmas goodie package. Our friends and families raved about how lovely, chewy and delicious our goodies were. It made my heart all warm and fuzzy.

Until.

Our neighbors. I am going to seriously reconsider handing out our blood, sweat and tears to the neighbors next year. They are the reason I had to resort to turning into the cookie monster. (The old cookie monster, when he actually ate cookies and didn't try to convince little children to eat their vegetables.) It wasn't my fault. I had no choice. They made me do it.

It's like when you're on your period and somebody says something stupid. The hormones take over and you flip out, yelling frantically that they are an idiot. Them being an ignorant fool justifies your yelling and overreacting. It was like that.

The husband and I thought we were being neighborly when we walked next door to our neighbor to the right. They are a nice couple with two little kids, one of which has wandered into our garage on a number of occassions to ask all sorts of 3 year old questions:

Boy Neighbor: "Hi!"
Me: "Hi David. How are you today?"
Boy Neighbor: "Good. What are you doing?"
Me: "Unloading groceries."
Boy Neighbor: "Why?"
Me: "Because they have to go in the fridge or they will go bad."
Boy Neighbor: "Why?"

And then start the questions. He asks why about everything. Why is the husband playing on the computer. Why am I planting plants in the patio. Why don't we have any pets. They never stop. But I put up with it because he's just so darn cute.

Nonetheless, they are very nice and I am pretty sure their kid likes us. So we walk next door on Christmas Eve. The neighbor husband answers the door and with it comes noise from talking, tv and yummy smells wafting from the kitchen. (The husband wanted no part in this, so he is standing by the patio gate while I was the one to knock at the door and do all the talking.) I tell him that we baked some cookies and just wanted to say happy holidays.

The look on his face was one of surprise. I could see him thinking "Oh no, I didn't get them anything. Why did they bake us cookies? What can I give them in return?" As he is looking around he says, "Why don't you come in?"

I can see the numerous family members packed into his living room and more as you look toward the kitchen. I know he's only asking because we brought him a present and he doesn't have one for us.

I start to say "Oh no, that's ok we really have to..."

But before I can say it, the husband is suddenly at my side, nudging me inside the door while saying "OK." I wanted to kill him.

As we stood in the entry way of their home, their relatives came up one by one to introduce themselves. There were a lot of them. It was like they were multiplying before our eyes. After saying hello we stood in awkward silence for what felt like a year until the neighbor told us we should come back tomorrow for some homemade Christmas food that his mom was cooking and let us go back home.

It was the most awkward 3 minutes of my life.

Because of our wonderful experience with the neighbors to the right, I was leery to go to the neighbors to the left. I didn't want to be invited into their home to have another one of those moments. A moment where we are both smiling a fake smile because we are thinking about what we can possibly say. After all, we hardly know each other. We've met a handful of times. And it doesn't help that this neighbor in particular always seems to look angry. So we both just stand there, waiting for someone to say that they have something to go do so we can both go back to the safety of our own home.

We knocked, but nobody answered. It was a relief and yet not because we knew that meant we had to go back and try again.

I went next door probably 3 more times with no luck. Then one night all their lights were on. This was a good sign. I could finally get rid of these cookies and feel better about myself for being a good neighbor. The husband had refused to go with me since the first time so I walked next door on my own.

I knocked. No answer. I knocked again a little louder thinking maybe they didn't hear me. Still no answer. My mind goes through possible scenarios: Maybe the wife isn't home and the husband is in the shower. Or they are in the garage working on their car so they can't hear my kock. Still possible, they are superheros off saving the world from a giant sea monster that looks like a spider. (I hate spiders.) Since they are doing me the world such a favor, I will forgive them for not answering the door.

I start walking back to my house, get to the gate and then the porch light turns on. Oh, I guess they aren't saving the world afterall. I assume they are looking at me through the peep hole. They should recognize that I am their neighbor holding a bag full of cookies for them. As I wait for them to open the door, I slowly realize that they aren't going to. They are mocking me through the peep hole, I can feel their eyes burning into my flesh.

I'm pissed. How dare they refuse to open the door to their neighbor! I can't believe they are that malicious.

I had made up my mind to show them! As soon as I was inside the door I started devouring their cookies.

Possibly the worst part about it, is now I see them all. the. time. I see them walking to the mail box, leaving the same time I am, at the grocery store. I mean really. Are they stalking me? Because the cookies are long gone by now.

At the same time I get a little chuckle that I enjoyed my yummy goodness that was our Christmas care package.

The Comedian

The husband likes to think he's funny. He tells me all the time. "But babe, I'm funny!"

The problem is, his idea of funny and my idea of funny are completely different. I mean completely.

I have to tell you that the husband is a high school teacher, so he deals with 16 year olds all day. And inevitably, he picks up on their lingo. And uses it. And thinks he's funny. He also picks up on their 16 year old behavior. And things that should not be funny, entertaining or at all interesting to a 28 year old man are suddenly hysterical, enjoyable and applied to his and my every day life.

Recently, he started using the phrase 'your mother' all the time. Our conversations would go something like:

Me: Babe do you want some pasta with the chicken?

Husband: Your mother wants pasta.

Huh? At first this confused me. That doesn't even make sense. My mother wants pasta? What??

And he found this hysterical. In fact, the more confused I was, the funnier he thought it was. And because he found it so entertaining it only encouraged him to use it more.

Me: Do you need socks babe?

Husband: Your mother needs socks.

Me: I really want some brownies.

Husband: Your mother wants brownies.

And so it goes.

I partially blame the 16 year olds. I purposely do not laugh at these 'your mother' moments. I know laughter fuels the fire and I just don't want to go there. The problem is at work. I imagine him standing at the front, commanding attention from the helpless teens. They have to listen to these tales of torture that the husband bestows upon me. And of course they are going to laugh. Afterall, these stories are much more entertaining than learning about the causes of the french revolution. Although I understand their dilemma, they are truly working against me.

(not the husband, just an example)

Possibly the worst part about it all is the husband does not see it this way. He comes home day after day telling me how funny his students think he is. Reasoning with him that they find him hilarious because they are immature, hormonal 16 year olds who are trapped in his class does not work. He will forever think of himself as being a comedian.