That's What You Get For Eavesdropping

After being married to Steve for the past 16 months I have realized that we often have some very interesting and sometimes strange conversations. They seem normal to us, but if you were to listen in during certain parts would probably be thinking, "What the?!" So, for those of you who are easily offended/grossed out (you know who you are) this is not the post for you. As for the rest of you, enjoy.

I love to have my back scratched. Every day. And Steve learned that as soon as we got married. However, Steve is not the best back scratcher out there. And he knows because sometimes I have to move his hand for him and it gets uncomfortable after awhile. Really, I shouldn't have to scratch my own back. I told him if my back was a lawn he would be doing the worst job in history. He mows so much in one spot that it burns the grass and doesn't doing anything anywhere else making the other half of my back the part of your lawn where grass grows so long that it turns to seed. And he even agreed with me.

Steve has a unique sense of humor and I often don't know what to do with it. He embarrasses me ALL THE TIME even when we are all by ourselves. He was supposed to be hanging up a whiteboard for me in our kitchen, so of course he needed his leveler and stud finder. He proceeded to use the latter on himself. Once he ran it over his chest he made his own out-of-control beeping noise followed by the claim that it exploded. It did not.

He also likes to do things that embarrass me in public. While on vacation in North Carolina my sister took us to a historic mill. Inside they have a box of clothes pioneer-ish in nature for both kids and adults to dress up in. My nieces got dressed up and I was thinking that they were so cute. Well, then Steve decides he also wants to dress up while making ridiculous faces. If he was trying to flirt it was not working. All I could think about was that he looked like he was either going coon hunting or getting ready to make turtle soup (that is real, people made it on my mission and I bet you can guess where they lived).

Now, I HATE stepping in dog poop. Who doesn't. But the thing that really drives me crazy is that it gets stuck deep into the crevices on the bottom of your shoes and it doesn't matter how much you drag your foot across the grass, that smell follows you EVERYWHERE you go. It seems that you can never really get rid of it. One night in bed I was thinking that having stepped in both dog and horse crap I have decided that dog smells way worse because of its potent odor and lingering-ness. So I asked Steve why that is since he does know why urine and feces are colored the way they are (he waited until after dinner to tell me). He replied, "I don't know. I'm not a poo-ologist." If you know the answer, please feel free to comment.

About a week ago the speaker in church spoke about serving his mission in South Carolina. He proceeded to say that the missionaries called it the Butthole of the Bible Belt. I was shocked when I did not hear offended gasps and muffled laughs. Not even from Steve (that's where he served his mission-he would have laughed not gasped). So I leaned over to Steve and asked, "Didn't he just say that South Carolina was the Butthole of the Bible Belt?" Steve smiled and leaned over to say, "No, he said buckle." Wow. I am so glad that I did not laugh out loud.

And our last conversation piece is my personal favorite, but may not be appropriate for a young audience. When Steve and I first got married I noticed that he did not use much toilet paper. I got concerned that Steve might not be using enough, so I confronted him about the issue. He told me that guys don't usually use toilet paper when they pee. Let me tell you, this was news to me. I had five sisters growing up and there always seemed to be a shortage (someone always left an empty roll, which was only sometimes me). At first I thought this was so great to have all this toilet paper pretty much to myself. But then I thought Steve should use it anyway because it would be more clean. My argument did not sway him then and does not now. Even when I told him he would have a lot more cooties down there than he would otherwise. His response: "You mean lewd-ies."