Last night, as I was cutting salami to add to my omelette (eggs for dinner for the poverty stricken) and talking to Pickle on my cell, one of Sax's Drummers came into the Kitchen with Sax looking for sugar.
Yummicoco: We don't have any...
Pickle (cellphone): You are not a very good wifey.
After Sax show at Spoken Words (4th ave/Union Street in Brooklyn every Monday), I rushed him along as he was slowly getting himself together.
Sax: I guess Wifey wants to go home.
About two months ago at Hollywood Video one night, the cashier asked Sax how he wanted my name filed as under his account.
Sax: wifey
So basically, my point is that I am a wifey.
We argue about bookshelves being placed in a corner or paintings on a certain wall or about his slobbery and how he is an animal. I try to show him how to properly wash dishes then he calls me obsessive compulsive.
I yell that I will leave him as soon as I get some money. He says "Good". Then we laugh because we are poor and will probably never leave Brooklyn or each other. I take a big spoon of nutella. He smokes his cigar. Then we make out and we talk about starting a band.
Tuesday, October 18, 2005
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3 comments:
I checked it out and it sucks.
Way to show those spammers, Yummi!
What I want to know is why it's the "wifey" that has to do things like stock sugar. The other day my boyfriend and I ran out of toilet paper. I had to pick it up the next day... even though he uses way more than I do. Then again, if I didn't do it, we'd just keep using paper towels.
It all about the paper towels in the event of an emergency. I know someone who used newspaper but I am not naming names.
I steal toliet paper from my parents.
yummi
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