I explained that my husband is a big sarcastic clown who is always teasing me. I swear, we can’t have a conversation without him interjecting a wisecrack, sarcasm or a joke of some sort. If I’ve said it once, I’ve said it a hundred times, it’s not always fun or funny living with a clown. BUT there ARE times when I DO get a kick out of it and those times are his text messages.
The day I gave explicit instructions on purchasing Berra’s puppy food was one. David got to the pet store and sent me a text message.
David: Why am I buying monkey food?
Me: For our monkey, duh.
David: When did we get a monkey?
Me: We’ve had one for years. Where do you think all the money goes, they’re expensive.
So, along with two sons and three dogs, we have an invisible monkey, Cuda (his name after David’s favorite car, the Barracuda). The on-going joke is our monkey, Cuda, is eating us out of house and home, or Cuda did it—anything and everything is Cuda’s fault now.
Friday I sent David the following text.
Me: Do we need milk? I’m running to Walmart.
David: No plenty of monkey food.
Me: Ok. I’ll get cheese, thanks.
Our texts make absolutely NO sense what-so-ever so if the CIA or the FBI or Homeland Security ever wiretapped my phone or read my texts they’d either think we were nuts OR speaking in code and come arrest our asses. Then they’d be looking for an invisible monkey aka spy named Cuda. Which doesn’t exist except in our minds but in HSA/CIA/FBI’s minds he DOES exist and he’s probably wanted for all kinds of conspiracies, heists, murders, and other very bad things that we’re not aware of because we’re just a boring family trying to have fun but accidentally made up a name that just happens to be on the FBI’s most wanted list.
Cuda is probably code for some Al-Qaeda ring-leader. Buying Cuda food is probably code for some bomb plan. Homeland Security probably has my house pegged with red flags as I type.
If I disappear from blogging, it’s Cuda’s fault.