Admittedly, my Papi is a much purer soul than I, as he doesn't usually laugh at the crude vulgarities in life. But then, he didn't ace the Urban Slang Dictionary final exam like I did either. I warned him that he better step up and learn the street lingo as our oldest nears her teenage years, so that there isn't a gap in parent/child communication. Fo shizzle! Since English is Papi's second language, a lot of things strike me as funny while he just sits there, stone faced.
A few days ago, I decided to liven things up by bringing someone else into our bed. The smokin hot and occasionally honey roasted Mr. Peanut, that is. Papi sat working at the computer while I plopped in the center of the bed, rummaging around through the can of mixed nuts. Cashews are my favorite. Cashews are also Papi's favorite. He had already decimated the cashew population before I could take over canned nut possession. I mean, this can was literally a tough nut to crack. Just like the famed black bottomed lake in Utah that refuses to give up her dead, so this can refused to yield her cashews. That monocled menace peanut with his creepy little smile seemed to mock my very best cashew retrieval efforts. I started mournfully singing Paula Cole's "Where Have All The Cowboys Gone?," but I changed the lyrics to, "Where have all the cashews gooooonnnne?" Ummm, without all the weird yodeling "Yipee Yo's and Yipee Yay's" at the end though.
As I sat there noisily shaking the can around and nimbly using my fingers to dig out the sparse cashew fragments, Papi looked over at me with a disgusted expression and said, "Girlie, will you please get your hands out of my nuts?" Oh no, he didn't! I nearly choked to death on a Spanish peanut that very moment. The irony. I sat there laughing, but disregarded him as my quest for cashews continued. Finally, he chastised me in an irritated voice, "Listen, will you stop shaking my nuts around? It really bugs me when you do that."
I didn't want to drive the man I love nutty, so I obeyed, and left his nuts alone for the remainder of the evening. I didn't appreciate him calling the can his. We're married. Doesn't that make his nuts part of a community property arrangement? I can't understand why he's so territorial when it comes to protecting his nuts. Must be a guy thing.