There are two rules that I live by; the first is to never touch a black man’s radio. The other is to never grab a man’s bean bag in an aggressive manner if you don’t want a broken wrist. Apparently my fiancée was unaware of this second rule.
Now put down your pitchforks; I didn’t actually cause physical harm to anyone yesterday. I can’t even kill a stinkbug when I find one inside, even though they’re an invasive pest – I usher it outside before one of the cats can eat it. What did happen, however, is that my fiancée grabbed my junk in a mock-threat during the world’s weirdest argument, and I had to gently but firmly remove her hand from my walnuts.
I informed her, in no uncertain terms, that swooping a clawed hand down towards the nether regions of a man like a bald eagle attempting to pluck a salmon from the Colorado River will lead to the most visceral fight-or-flight response that man has, in essence triggering a Weapon X-style berserker barrage in even the most tree-hugging sensitive new age guy.
The entire reason for the “argument” was more or less caused by a poor word choice on my part that may or may not have been completely intentional, sending her into a spiral of paranoia about the china pattern we had picked out for our wedding. She had finally convinced me to take care of our wedding registry yesterday afternoon, and while I was sitting there, completely out of my element while her and the staff member were chattering away in what sounded like ancient Sanskrit to my ears, I was half-heartedly flipping through the catalog of china patterns when I stumbled upon the absolute antithesis of staid, traditional, and downright boring designs, and I knew I had found what I wanted.
Gaze upon the magnificence of the Lenox china line known simply and magnificently as “Chirp.” This mad bastard is festooned with birds, birds, and more birds and is practically indestructible. This shit is made with the powdered bones of animals and it doesn’t fuck around. It also has the added bonus of sending the more staid and dowdy members of both my family and my fiancée’s into paroxysms of mortification, which made me literally cackle in glee right in the store, eliciting concerned looks from everyone nearby.
Everything in this set is absolutely lousy with birds on branches. You can’t swing a dead cat without hitting a cup or a saucer or coffee mug that has these pissed-off looking avians all over them, and you just know that their little feathery cousins probably died in scores to supply the bone ash to give these place settings their Luciferian strength and durability. In fact the staff member picked up a mug and literally smashed it on the table in her best Charlton Heston impression, leaving a sizable dent in the tabletop; if the Ten Commandments had been made out of this shit, you could have used them to beat the Nazis to death at the end of Raiders of the Lost Ark instead of having to rely on vengeful Hebrew ghost-summoning dust.
The thing that sealed the deal for me was the fact that even the salt and pepper shakers are crafted to coincide with the flight motif. Not only that, but Lenox didn’t half-ass it either by just printing the design on the side of standard shakers, either; no, they went balls-out by making the shakers actually in the shape of birds. I knew that without a shadow of a doubt that I needed this set of dishes, and that I would not rest until I had them firmly on our wedding registry. In fact I can tell you with 100% certainty that I will rise from my grave and haunt the earth if I’m not buried with a full table setting for at least six guests.
My fiancée fell in love with them as well, and we went on to have a fun time going through the store selecting incredibly overpriced shit that nobody in their right mind would ever buy for a couple for their wedding. Who the fuck asks for a $400 knife set with a straight face?
However, the ball-grabbing part came in later that evening, during a conversation where I made the mistake of jokingly referring to the set as “awful.” This resulted in a psuedo-“argument” where my fiancée pretended to devolve into a paranoiac lunatic, accusing me of only choosing the table setting in some elaborate troll attempt despite my vehement laughter-choked protestations of innocence, and culminated in her attempting to extract the truth from me by descending her claw-like hand upon my junk in a manner that sent my limbic system into full-on lizard brain mode.
I am a gentle man. I have serious concerns about causing pain in other people and animals, and I don’t even like eating meat because I feel guilty about the pig that got sledgehammered in the head, even though it’s long dead and cut up into sweet delicious meat candy known as bacon, yet I was a hair’s breath from snapping my fiancée’s wrist like a twig and throwing her out the living room window when I felt her hand tighten around my yam bag, and I would have followed up on the act of violence by rampaging across the countryside dual-wielding police cruisers like in the Incredible Hulk movie.
So please, ladies, if you ever consider jokingly going “in for the kill” for a laugh, you better know for damn sure that your partner knows you’re not actually attempting to induct your target into the Vienna Boys’ Choir, as even the Dalai Lama would seriously consider punching a woman full-on in the jaw if he thought his daddybags were at risk.