Argumentative

This just in: Tom is wearing T-shirts!!

Why is this big news? Well, let me tell you! Back when he broke himself, he started wearing button up shirts because he couldn’t lift his arm high enough to put T-shirts on. He declared the day after he was broken that we’d know he was feeling better when he started wearing T-shirts again.

For the record, it only took nine weeks for him to start wearing T-shirts.

This morning, he was awake before I was, which, again, is a sign that he’s feeling better. For the past nine weeks he’s woken up as I’m walking out the door to go to work.

Anyway! He was awake because he needed to pack a 50 pound item that had sold on his eBay page. While he was broken, he had put his page on ‘vacation’. So having to pack means he’s back in business. Whew!

I asked him if he’d started packing even though there was no sign of packing.

He said that once I’d left, he’d sweep the kitchen floor and start packing.

See, apparently, he doesn’t like to pack on a dirty floor. Okay. Whatever. I’m just glad the floor gets swept by someone other than me once in a while.

While he was talking about the filth in which we life, he said that he doesn’t like to pack his items on the carpeted floor of the family room because of the hair.

I laughed and said something about our long-haired daughters.

He said that sometimes he found hairs about six inches long too.

I told him that even those couldn’t be mine because, hello, my hair is maybe four inches long.

He proceeded to argue with me about how long my hair is. He pulled up a few strands and used his hand to measure them.

Whatever. My hair is not six inches long yet. I wish it was that long. I can’t wait until it is; but it’s not there yet.

He finally let it go, realizing I wasn’t going to agree that my hair is as long as he was insisting it was.

A few minutes later, he suggested that something that had happened with Olivia the day before might mean that she was about to start her period.

I said it could be but it seemed like she’d just had it a couple of weeks before.

He was sure it had been at least three weeks, perhaps four.

I shrugged, muttering something about how since I took care of her during these times I might know a little better than he did about when it happened.

He laughed and declared that I was being really argumentative.

“No, I’m not.” I argued, “I’m just explaining to you how I’m right and you’re wrong.”

Then I kissed him and left for work because that’s just how we do things around here.