Epic Banality

If I was to say that K.L. was weird, she’d be the first to insist that was not the case. She’d say, “I’m original, not weird. I can’t be weird because I’m normal.” Her mother agrees with her assessment, though I have some feeling if a vote were taken among those who know her, the consensus would favor my evaluation. She’s weird, plain and simple. Allow me to submit an example that took place last night.

K.L. came over to my place, as has become customary, and we simply laid down in bed together. It wasn’t long before she curled up and rested her head on my stomach so the back of her head was facing me. So far, so good. This is a typical position for two people who interact in a romantic capacity. Things became decidedly abnormal when she said, without looking back, “I like stomachs. They make so many interesting noises.” I don’t remember the exact order of events that followed but I can say that I said that she was a weirdo, she asked me if I could “feel it” in reference to the noises that were being made, commented on liking what stomachs “said” and when I got up a little later I suggested we change positions so I could listen. (Yes, I get that I’m weird too, but I make no arguments to the contrary.)

About the time I started listening, she mentioned that her stomach probably wouldn’t be exciting because, unlike me, she hadn’t just eaten a bunch of random things. There were noises though—stomach noises, as one would expect. The growling, the bubbling and the digestion was all there. To be honest, it’s not a pleasant sound and it’s not the sort of sound I really want to associate with K.L. She’s a beautiful girl and her exterior image doesn’t mesh well with something that sounds like The Bog of Eternal Stench. I wrinkled my nose, complained about the sounds and got up.

As a result, she did it. She looked at me and said, “So, you can’t handle it.” Why does she have to use that word? Of course I can handle it. I can handle anything. However, just because I can handle something doesn’t mean that I like it or enjoy it any capacity. For instance, I can handle the weather outside when it’s 112º like it was yesterday, but believe me I don’t enjoy it in the least. It’s dreadful.

I immediately plopped back down and folded my arms and asked, “How long do I have to stay here to demonstrate that I can handle it?” According to K.L. I “pouted” when I did that. She said, “You look like some little boy who doesn’t want to eat all his vegetables.” She laughed. She laughed some more. She kept laughing. It was impossible to retain my sour expression at that point. Her laughter always tickles me, even when I feel glum. (Not that I felt all that glum, but she did challenge me!) I tried though, which just made her laugh more as she teased me—mercilessly I might add—about the vegetables thing. At least she conceded in the end that I could handle it.

I have this feeling she’ll bring it up again as time moves on. Ugh.

This entry was posted on Wednesday, July 9th, 2008 at 2:27 pm and is filed under Anecdote, Personal. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.