Henry and I are getting ready for bed, which means it’s time for me to ask him questions that he doesn’t want to answer because he’s old & tired constantly.
Tonight’s question was good, though! I wondered what he would have been like if the Internet and Twitter were around when he was 21, and of course he had no response so I had to answer for him.
“You probably would have used #YOLO and beer & poop emojis incessantly,” I laughed, right before getting the best idea of my life: CREATING A FAKE TWITTER ACCOUNT FOR SERVICE-ERA HENRY.
“That’s a stupid idea,” he mumbled into his pillow.
“Did you have to keep a log when you were in THE SERVICE?” I probed after he said “none” when I asked him what his SERVICE nickname was.
“WHAT? A log? No,” he spat. “It wasn’t Star Trek.” And then after a few beats (as in SECONDS, not THOSE KINDS OF BEATS you guys, god!) he asked, “Why would I keep a log?”
“You know, so you could write things down like Today I learned how to put sheets on my bed.”
“Why would I be learning how to put sheets on my bed in THE SERVICE? I wasn’t retarded!” He was getting really ticked off. I was getting pretty Goldthwait-y.
“What color were your sheets?” I pressed excitedly. “Army???”
Now Henry was super ruffled. “What? No! They were white,” he muttered.
I lost it at this point, had to pull the blanket over my face to muffle my insane laughter so my neighbors wouldn’t think I was torturing a milkmaid again.
“It’s not funny!” Henry huffed.
“I bet they got dirty real easily,” I cried, actual drool sluicing down my chin, the result of sloppy laughter.
Henry ignored me, turning over so he was facing away from me.
“You know who else will think this is funny?” I wheezed.
“Alyson,” Henry mumbled immediately. “Because she’s stupid too.” And then after a few seconds of nothing but my psycho bray filling the bedroom, Henry asked, “Wait—why would my sheets be dirty?”
And I just lost it all over again.