I forgot to mention that yesterday, Tom seemed to have a love affair with the mints that they give you with the check at Olive Garden. He seemed to still be hyped up on the two energy drinks he had consumed because when he popped one in his mouth he went,
"MMMMM. These are SO good. You MUST have one. They're scrumptious!"
You have to understand that my husband doesn't use words like scrumptious. I do. But not him. He usually uses the words "good" or "very good." And that's pretty much it. Oh and then he emits a burp. Because he says the louder the burp, the better the meal was. That was a startling surprise when we were first married. I had made Hamburger Helper, because it was one of the few things I could make, and suddenly he let out this humongous burp that made me jump.
"That was rude," I said, a bit testy. I never recalled him doing such disgusting things when we were dating after all. (Oh, if only I knew what disgusting things were to come. Such as ball scratching, butt scratching, SBDFs (silent-but-deadly-farts), poops that practically brought down the house...)
"That burp is letting you that dinner was good. You should be proud," Tom explained to me.
Proud of a burp?
Is he insane?
He still does it to this day. His loudest burps seem to be when I make pork chops, spaghetti or lasagna.
He's a gentleman and waits until we're in the car to burp when we're at a restaurant. Apparently he can seem like he's a polite man in public but the minute we're behind closed doors, the gas emits from him.
But back to the mints.
He practically shoved one down my throat. He unwrapped one for me and pointed it in the direction of my mouth.
"Scrumptious I tell you!" he continued.
He's been around me too long. I use phrases like that all the time. Sometimes when I'm feeling extra feisty I throw in "scrum-diddly-umptious!" a la Willy Wonka. (Cheesecakes are scrum-diddly-umptious. Chocolate is scrum-diddly-umptious. McDonalds is scrum-diddly-umptious.)
"I'll take one if only to shut you up," I said and took the piece of mint chocolate from his hands.
I popped it in my mouth. I needed one anyhow since I had consumed all that garlic.
"Are you going to eat this one?" Tom asked, pointing to the last mint. (They're Andes mints, by the way. If you want to experience the excitement Tom was.)
"No, go ahead," I said.
"Yay," Tom said, unwrapping it.
(Yay?? He never uses the word yay.)
When the waitress came to collect the check Tom went, "Your mints are delicious."
The waitress looked a little startled. She's probably used to people going on about how delicious the meal was. Not the mints. She composed herself and asked if Tom wanted more.
Tom's eyes lit up. "I'd take more," he said excitedly.
So she grabbed him a few more and Tom thanked her profusely. You'd think that I had just given him permission to watch a disgusting porn or something.
On the way out Tom snacked on the mints.
"So good. So good," he kept saying.
No more energy drinks for Tom.
I surprised him and went out and bought him a package of Andes mints. When he woke up he saw the package on the couch.
"Oh good. Mints," he said, much calmer than he was before.
"You seemed to have a love affair with them this morning," I pointed out.
"I did? Really? I was half asleep, I don't even remember," Tom said.