I honestly can’t pinpoint what launched Chooch and me into such a giddy tirade this last Sunday evening, but it started around the time I randomly decided to play around with the Hipstamatic flashes that I never, ever use.
And then Henry sat down on the couch with his dinner and was totally irritated because I kept flashing my phone in his face, and guess what? Go eat at the dining room table, then! That’s what it’s there for!!
I mean, seriously. How can you be THAT ANNOYED when you live in a house with two sweethearts (me and Chooch, in case that wasn’t obvious).
Somehow, it went from innocent picture-taking to hyper video-recording, some of which made it onto Instagram, much to Henry’s chagrin. At one point, he actually locked himself in the bathroom in an effort to get away from us, so Chooch started recording his sock-feet from beneath the door. Oh my god you guys, we were laughing so hard that Chooch straight puked on the floor at one point. THAT IS A SIGN OF A GOOD FUCKING NIGHT.
Of course, it ended in tears though when we were jumping on Henry, who was laying on our bed in defeat by that point, and Chooch hurt himself on Henry and then started SCREAMING about how Henry hurt him on purpose—-hopefully the neighbors heard that one and logged it. So then I got mad at Henry for ruining our night by making Chooch cry and Henry was all, “JESUS CHRIST” and Chooch was all, “I HATE YOU!!” and then I was all, “OMG IT’S ALMOST TIME FOR WALKING DEAD” so Chooch and I went downstairs and got cozy under a blanket and made Henry go to McDonald’s to get us sundaes because we’re fucking fantastic that way. I guess if you’re a proponent of Henry, now would be as good a time as any to bust out the Poor Henry pin.
My abdominals actually ached a little bit on Monday morning, that’s how I know my laughter is hardcore.