This is an (approximately accurate) excerpt of an actual conversation between me and my personal-chauffeur-for-life XFE at a gas station on Saturday morning, around 8 am.
XFE (getting into the car after pumping the gas): Are you trying to kill me?
Me (peering intently into my smart phone): No, why?
XFE: You’re not supposed to be on your phone while someone’s pumping gas. It’s dangerous.
Me: What? I’ve never heard of such a thing! You’re lying! That cannot be true.
XFE (pointing to a sign outside my window): There are signs everywhere. You’re not supposed to be on your phone.
Me: You’re kidding! I’ve never seen that sign before in my life. When did that start?
XFE: Always. It’s always been the case. You’re clearly trying to kill me.
Me: No, silly, I think that sign refers to the person who’s outside the car. The person pumping the gas should not be on their phone. Not the person inside the car. The person inside the car is free to watch that adorable video of Kristen Bell reacting to a sloth all day long if she wants. (*I did not mention the video, but I have been watching it a lot lately)
XFE: That’s it. I’m calling in the sharks when we get to Australia.
And that, ladies and gentlemen of the jury, is conclusive evidence of spousal-equivalent foul play if I’ve ever heard it. You heard it. He said it. He’s calling in the sharks.
I just laughed out loud at the shark phone. Where does that exist?? I want to try it. I bet it works better than my blackberry.
I don’t know, but I’ll try very hard to find out.
Tell XFE if the shark call doesn’t work he can always bear hug you under water and squeeze the air supply off. Just ask Gabe Watson how to do it.
We’re OBSESSED with that story. Ob. Sessed. I was going to blog about it the other day but then thought maybe I shouldn’t joke about that stuff.