The following is an actual conversation Hubster and I had over dinner.

Hubster: You’re very quiet. What are you thinking about?
Me: Human evolution and the world in general.
H: Oh boy, here we go. Dare I ask?
Me: Well. I was just thinking about how in the animal kingdom when animals show their teeth it is, like, a really threatening thing to do. It’s like “Back of Buster. Get your paws off my mate you filthy son of a saber.”
H: Well…yeah…
Me: But in human society we literally BARE our teeth when we meet people through smiling. Don’t you think that is kind of sinister? It’s like…am I pleased to see you or is that a gun in my pocket? Am I smiling, or am I about to rip your head off? Who can tell?
H: Well, aside from the fact that unless you are a character out of Buffy you generally don’t attack people with your teeth.
Me: Hmmm. Very true. We attack with fists and weapons. I guess if I met someone and immediately adopted a Kung Fu pose that would be pretty threatening.
H: If YOU met someone and immediately adopted a Kung Fu pose it would be pretty amusing. Threatening? Not so much.
Me: I’m a lover not a fighter.
H: I’ll remind of you that next time I leave the toilet seat up.

* friendly contemplative silence*

Me: And then, of course, there is the whole tail conundrum.
H: Do I want to know?
Me: Well, if you had a tail what type would you have?
H: I don’t have a tail.
Me: But if you did. What type? Would you like a long bushy one? A curly one like a pig? One of those weird flap things sheep have? In a world with no limits…what’s your ideal tail?
H: Not having a tail?
Me: You cannot tell me that you’ve lived your entire life and never thought about your hypothetical tail.
H: I haven’t.
Me: Well as a deep thinking type, I’ve given it some thought and I really feel the monkey tail would be best for me. It would be like having three hands. Master D could hang on to it while I hold the shopping bags in the other hands. I could be chopping up an onion while simultaneously opening the oven door with my tail.
H: Well, I’m glad you have given it some thought.
Me: So. What’s your tail type?
H: Not having a tail?
Me: You’re only saying that because you KNOW it would be a pigs tail.
H: Sigh.
Me: But just think, if we did have tails, so many things would be different.
H: Our butts?
Me: Well yeah. But I meant, wow, our pants and chairs would have to have tail holes. We’d probably need to go to the “Tail dresser” to maintain our good looks. There would be whole sections of Cosmopolitan magazine holding debates on “What do men prefer? The waxed or natural tail?”.
H: Oh God…
Me: And think about it. Would what if you met someone you didn’t like, you would have to FORCE your tail to wag, even though it instinctively wanted to droop. Forget table manners, we’d teach our kids “Tail Manners”. “Kids! Stop pulling each others tails!”. “I don’t care what you think of Great Aunt Edna, Jimmy. When you see her give her a hug and wag your tail!” Really it would be one more aspect of your life to try and control. It’s probably a good thing we don’t have tails.
H: Well, I’m glad that’s sorted then.

*Approximately 10 seconds of silence*

Me: I do have a very important question for you though.
H: Go on.
Me: What would you do if your willy caught fire?
H: *Drops silverware. Covers eyes. Makes noise akin to a cow giving birth*
Me: Well?
H: You know what. I don’t even have a response for that question. How would that even HAPPEN in the first place –
Me: Unfortunate barbequeing accident? Sausage mix up?

H: – and I wish you wouldn’t call it a “willy”…you know what. no. Got nothing.
Me: Well you’re just no fun.
H: For not wanting to think about my nether regions being fried?
Me: We live in a country that hails the barbecue. It is an important issue.
H: We can never just have normal conversations can we?
Me: You wouldn’t have married me if you wanted normal.
H: I think that is the only thing you have said tonight that has made any sense.

Love is patient. Love is kind. Love is putting up with your wife and her inane drivel…

…and putting up with your husband when he just doesn’t see the humour in hot dogs.