Duke it Out

Last night on the slow moving trip with the before mentioned farm machinery, Oscar and I actually had some pleasant conversation (I guess I must have been in a chatty mood). Just as we pulled out onto the highway a truck passed us; I said “is that….?” And Oscar replied “yep”, and then I said “I can’t remember his first name.” Oscar really must not have been listening to me because he just nonchalantly said “ya”.

Once we got home from the great trip, which included my husband taking me out for an amazing meal at McDonalds, I was getting ready to go to bed, and I called down the stairs to Oscar and told him that I remembered the guy’s name. Oscar got all confused and said he didn’t remember what I was talking about, that person never passed us on the road, blaa blaa blaa. He then figures that I was so wrong, and crazy, maybe that my cheese had slid off my cracker even. He decided that I must have gotten today mixed up with three days ago. You know what; I may sometimes be a little wacko, but not today. Honestly how does someone get three hours ago mixed up with thee days ago?

Three days ago I went to town with my Dad to pick up a few things for Mom for Thanksgiving, so Oscar decides to call Dad, just to prove a point, he figured that Dad and I talked about this individual on Saturday. So my Dad is really the crazy one of the family and he was pretty sure that we did in fact talk about this person of interest on Saturday. By the way Dad, we did not talk about him, maybe we talked about his daughter, but I highly doubt that too.

Oscar comes screaming into the bathroom pumping his arms in the air like he has just won some sort of competition, which he has not, and by the way there was no competition. He goes on and on about how I got my lines crossed and how I mixed today up with Saturday. He is so excited that I was wrong and he wasn’t, so I got really mad and told him exactly where this conversation of ours (Oscars and mine) occurred, and exactly what happened and the color of the truck etc. He is still so confident that I had no idea what I was talking about that I kept getting more and more upset. All of a sudden he blurts out “That isn’t Dons truck, he drives a whatever colour Chevy not a white Dodge, that truck is Philbert Physter from Tuktyuktuks truck”. So there it is; I thought that this truck was someone else’s and it started this huge heated argument. He still however walked around the house all smug thinking that I am so wrong and he is so right. I guess that is what women have to deal with, knowing in our minds that we are always right, and men, well they just think they are right.

Wouldn’t you have loved to be a fly on the wall for that one? A hugeo mungo, full blown, all out fight over someone’s truck, and a discussion that apparently my husband was not really part of and I thought he was, along with his confirmation from my foolish Dad that we did in fact (which we did not) talk about Don on the weekend. I had a headache by time I went to bed, and this morning I am killing myself laughing over the entire thing.