Articles in “Strange Conversations”

ME: Nicholas, is it because of your Y chromosome . . .
NICK: Yes.
ME: Or is there some other reason why you’re incapable of shutting cupboard doors?
NICK: No.
ME: “No” isn’t really an inappropriate response to that question.
NICK: Well, I already answered “Yes” to the first part.
ME: But you didn’t know that I was asking then.
NICK: It’s almost always about my Y chromosome.

NICK: Oh well, panic stations over.
ME: I wasn’t panicking! The house is shiny.
NICK: No! I mean in a metaphorical sense. We can stand down from alert.
ME: Metaphorical panicking? Is that a metaphorical alert, too?
NICK: Yes. Alert but not alarmed, anyway.
ME: And does this mean you’re going to start leaving crap everywhere again?
NICK: Um, I’ll try.
ME: Yes—you seem to have misinterpreted my last point, there.

This conversation brought to you by the fact that I tripped over a mop while trying to avoid an inconveniently placed chair, which led to the following conversation taking on a slightly icy tone:

ME: Nick, listen to my words. Dust the chair and then put it away, before you use the dustpan and broom. Then we won’t have problems like this . . . (expressive gesture taking in chair and mop).
NICK: Well, I had actually already dusted that chair, before you asked me.
ME (deep breath): Well, then, when I asked you to dust and move the chair, the correct response is “Actually, I already did that.”
NICK: I see.
ME: What with me having sworn never to use my telepathy for personal gain.
NICK: That was very noble of you, Treena.
ME: It’s harder some days than others.

ANNOYING WOMAN IN COMMERCIAL: That’s why I trust to the strength of Advil.
ME: I trust to the tenderness of Advil.
NICK: And I trust to the wisdom of Advil.
ME: Yeah.

(On that note, I’m trusting advertisements are shifting away from the horrors of Max Walker’s blood diamonds and back to something funnier: the fact that we were in hysterics over the new Flora Pro-Active advertisement earlier this evening gives me hope.)

The advantage to having the first mobile phone I’ve ever owned in my life is that I can now have strange conversations via SMS:

ME: And not the phone is playing up intermittently. Why? Why? (It has, a couple of times today, stopped making keyboard noises when I type and also run reeeeeally slowly.)
NICK: Hum. That’s odd. Could be a sign it needs a cold reboot.
ME: I don’t know what that means. Also, I just dropped it on the table, and now it’s working better.
NICK: Just hold down the power button until you see the red slider, then slide that. Wait a bit then restart by firmly pressing power button.
ME: You mean turn it off and on again?
NICK: Basically yeah.
ME: Well, why not say that?
NICK: Well I thought I had!

Geeks!

Having recommended Charlaine Harris to a friend:

NICK: Of course you did.
ME: What? I like Eric!
NICK: I know you do. It’s rather endearing.
ME: What, my habit of falling desperately in love with fictional characters when I actually already have a boyfriend?
NICK: Yeah. I like it. It takes the pressure off.

The dangers of IM:

ME: Freaking out a little.
NICK: Hey on the phome.
(Pause)
Sorry. What are you freaking out about?
ME: Phome?
NICK: Phoe.
ME: Phoe?
NICK: Phone.
(Pause)
Bloody new keybaord.
(Pause)
Board.
(Pause)
Sigh.

Whinging about the administrative details that have piled up a little this week:

ME: They’re like an Ancient Mariner around my neck!
(Note: I know. I know. It’s ripped off from Sue Townsend.)
NICK: Of course, you have to take the rime off before you can eat an Ancient Mariner.
ME: Did you make that up yourself?
NICK: Yep!
ME: That’s quite clever.
NICK: Thanks.

SCENE: The kitchen, in a quiet Brisbane suburb

ME: Nicholas!
NICK: Yes?
ME: Could you come here, now?
NICK: Oh, god. What have I done now?
ME: Could you explain why this is in the fridge?
NICK: Um . . .
ME: It’s a completely empty wine bottle.
NICK: Oh.
ME: Otherwise known as the crushing of my girlish hopes and dreams.
NICK: Well, I thought it was a full bottle of wine.
ME: Why would you think that? There’s nothing in it!
(Pause)
ME: ACK! Why are you touching me with a freezing cold wine bottle?
NICK: I was feeling in a mischievous mood.
ME: You’ll be feeling a wine bottle in a minute.

FINS

(And, yes: I lied about the George Cruikshank illustrations. But you can see his illustrations for “The Bottle”—a series of illustrations that were turned into a highly successful East End play—right here.)

Me bewailing the fact that the medical centre doesn’t include “Doctor” on its list of possible titles for patients:

ME: And, I mean, it is my title. I worked damn hard for it.
NICK: Just as I did for “Colonel.”
ME: Exactly.
(Pause)
ME: What?

Via instant messaging:

NICK: You just need to relax, like the MST3K [that’s Mystery Science Theater 3000, our most recent obsession] theme song says.
ME: But if I remember that it’s just a show, then the existential horror overwhelms me again.
NICK: Oh god.
ME: What if I’m cancelled? Mid-season?
NICK: You’ll live on in repeats, DVD sales, youtube skits, fan-dubs, and the memories of faithful viewers forever.
ME: I can be a cult favourite!
NICK: Exactly!
ME: People will mourn the tragedy of my thirteen-episode run for ever! And send peanuts to the networks!
NICK: Very true. So it’s all good really.
ME: Well, except I’ll be dead. Metaphorically.
NICK: But only metaphorically.
ME: It’s still pretty bad! And if I’m a TV show, isn’t metaphor actualised?
NICK: You know, I’ve lost track of where this one is going.
ME: Me, too. That’s probably why I was cancelled. Too obscure for prime time.
NICK: Oh man.
ME: Sorry.

MY MOTHER: You know, you could play that new shoe rack of yours as a glockenspiel, if you wanted.
ME: Pardon?
MY MOTHER: Well, if you wanted a little music, you could play it like a glockenspiel.
ME: You do tend to think outside the box, don’t you, Mam?
MY MOTHER: Well, you have to. Otherwise, there wouldn’t be any new inventions.
ME: Yes. Of course, I think the glockenspiel has already been invented, so you’re a little behind the curve there.
MY MOTHER: Yes, but this is a free-standing glockenspiel that hangs on the back of a door.
ME: And doubles as a shoe rack.
MY MOTHER: No one’s invented one of those before.

I kept silent on the fact that there was probably a reason for that.