Here are a few things that have struck me as funny lately:
A few weeks ago, I asked Rob to make Leila and me some cinnamon toast. She had never had it, and I thought she should try it. So he did, and we both ate it, but, to my surprise, Leila said it was okay, but she didn't need to eat it again. I thought she'd go nuts for it and want it all the time. Butter? Sugar? Cinnamon? Riding on some toast? What's not to love? I was still eating mine, and realized that I kind of agreed with her. It just wasn't as good as I remembered. A little while later, Rob decided he would also like some cinnamon toast, so he made himself some. Fast forward a few days, and he admits to me that, while he was making his own cinnamon toast, he realized that he had previously grabbled another spice from the spice drawer that starts with a C and ends with and N, and had accidentally made us cumin toast. Like Leila, I wouldn't eat it again, but it was not as disgusting as you might imagine.
The other day, I was on the phone with my best friend who is a nurse. I call her whenever I have a hangnail, or Leila bumps her head, or I'm, you know, admitted to the ICU, because, for some reason, I think that her medical training means that she is interested in any malaise that may befall my family or myself. I'm sure she rolls her eyes when I call every time Leila has a fever and I ask, "What should I do?" It shows her love for me that she does not give in to the temptation to respond, "the same thing I told you to do the last one hundred times she had a fever, you forgetful whore!" So, I was reading off all my lab results to her, trying to pronounce the ridiculous names they have for these blood tests, names that ensure no lay person can ever read their own lab results, and I was concerned that, although none of my many doctors have found any reason for my repeated hospitalizations, most of my results seemed at the lower end of normal. Forgetting for a moment that it is entirely possible that a result on the higher end of normal would be much more dangerous than the lower end, I was sure that there was something to this pattern. She patiently waited for me to read off all the results, and listened to me get more anxious, and at the end of my blithering she said, "You interpret lab results like a French major." That shut me up, since it was completely true.
This same friend sent me a manilla envelope containing one Redvine of undetermined age that she found in her pantry, after I posted on Twitter than I love stale Redvines. I totally ate it, and it hit the spot.