Because I blog, I'm always looking for
Flipping though my camera phone, I said to Paul, "Are you thinking what I'm thinking?"
"No," he replied. "Whatever it is, I am not."
I barrelled on, "You don't think he looks like Kim Jong Il in this picture?"
My husband shook his head. "Really, Nancy? You're comparing our son to a dictator?"
"Yes really! I shall call him Joel Jong Il. That's comedy, right there!" I smiled to myself, imagining the comments pouring, like a bubbling stream of validation.
We sat together in amiable silence for a moment. "Paul?"
He looked up from his phone, "Yes, dear?"
"Would it be in bad taste to dress Owen up like Mahmoud Ahmadinejad?"
He half smiled. "And how would you plan on doing that?"
I knew the answer to this one. "Button up shirt. Coffee ground beard."
"Nancy," he said, as kindly as he could, "Dressing our children up as dictators? As bad, bad men? That's just really, really weird."
I pictured Owen with that coffee ground beard. "You don't think it would be funny?"
"No. Would it be funny to dress the boys up like Hitler or Mussolini?"
I frowned, "That's totally different."
He stood up, placed his dirty plate in the sink, and said, "No, honey. It's not different at all."
Well. So much for comedy gold.
Have you ever mistaken a clump of poop for comedy gold?