Ice Cream

I had just taken a bong snap, when Mary started freakin’ out. Sometimes when she gets stoned she gets strange thoughts like, “I think my brain is swelling, take me to the hospital!” and “I can’t stop moving my feet.” But then other times she is perfectly cool and just laughs and chills like a normal stoner. I kept telling her to drink water for some reason. When I’m stoned I think water is a cure-all. After she realized that my method wasn’t as great as I thought, she decided that some Neapolitan ice cream would do the trick. I just happened to have a huger tub of it in my freezer, so I divvied up two bowls and we indulged in one of lives greater pleasures IMO.

I few bites in is when I decided to write this blog. I had thought about it before, but never went through with it. I have big dreams; I shoot high. What can I say? I would love to see this blog become widely read and popular. Who doesn’t want that? We were sitting there eating ice cream and playing WoW high out of our minds when I decided to put my ice cream down for later use. Mary noticed this and, with a beautiful smile on her face, she said, “Why aren’t you eating your ice cream silly?” I looked at her as if she should’ve already known and said, “I’m saving some because I need some thoughts for it for later.” She busted up laughing at me right away. I was confused, was it something I said? I guess I didn’t realize how strange my reply was until later, because it made perfect sense to me when I said it. I now see why she laughed at me. The ice cream still sat there untouched as I thought about what to write next. Mary slyly moved her spoon toward my bowl and got away with a mouthful of ice cream. “Don’t eat my ice cream bitch!”, I aggressively retorted.

Mary and I have a passive-aggressive quality in our relationship. We make all these ridiculously childish insults at each other because it is a way to have fun. When other people hear it they must think we don’t get along, but that’s not true. We are the complete opposite of that; we get along like best friends get along. I love it! Her own mother has commented on out insults and I think part of her might have been concerned. But she knows that Mary and I love each other.