Ebola pantry, rape whistles and foggy glasses

As with any close family, Satu and I are building that kind of history that leads to new language and quirks. Outsiders would most likely turn this show off in a few minutes, but to us we are a hilarious sitcom. We now have an Ebola pantry in the basement because I am scared of illness and the recent Ebola outbreak, no matter how distant flips my shit from time to time. Satu stocked away some dry goods so that while the rest of the world is living out scenes from "The Stand" we can eat oreos and cous cous. Whenever we run out of some staple, it can now be found in the ebola pantry.

Last night while we were in the Barnes ad Noble, we saw that among their Christmas gift offerings was a genuine US Army survival kit. It included a cheap compass, canteen, some manner of handbook (probably titled hooah) and some other child sized military nick knacks. I remarked that there was no Marine Corps survival kit which I am sure simply contains a flask and a rape whistle. The rape whistle of course doesn't work, when you blow into it it just titters yoo-hoo. Clearly there is not much funnier than an off color rape joke, especially if it has some background in your bitter military experience. We have been giggling and shouting yoo hoo at each other all night.

Then there is this little off hand comment that struck me so funny I had to kneel down on the sidewalk. Satu and I were out walking out dogs one evening she was wearing a cute little hat and her usual petite, well cut jacket and I was wearing a stocking cap with a little ball on the top. Gosh she says, I hope we don't seem like thugs, do we look like trouble? No, I assured her that we were probably not going to be targets for a drive by while we are out walking two fat dogs. "Well", she said "I sure hope I don't have to cut a bitch because my glasses are all fogged." This is probably the funniest thing I have ever heard her say. I giggle about it all the time partly because she is such a tiny, proper sweet little thing, and partly because I know that absolutely, without a doubt she will cut a bitch if she has to.

You've been hit by.. you've been struck by... Cold Genitals.

Since moving into our new place here in the city, we have given up our tiny little back yard and have had to walk our poor little dogs several times a day. This time of year that means getting all bundled up and skiing behind Gimmie in hot pursuit of squirrels and bunnies. He apparently hates small furry animals. There can be only one!

My idea of bundling up involves putting a sweatshirt over whatever I slept in and finding dry shoes. Satu on the other hand has a process. There are layers that have to go on in a certain order. Sweatpants will never do. There is a scarf wrapping process so elaborate, it must have its roots in some ancient Japanese ceremony and there are choices to be made concerning hats. Usually the dogs and I wait at the back door for a few minutes getting acclimated to the freeze and tangling and untangling ourselves while the process wraps up.

I did not know that sometimes layering involves the construction of an extra warm layer called the vagina guard. Satu explained that the key to a warm heart is a warm hoo hoo and belted out a chorus of her new theme song. You've been hit by... you've been struck by... cold genitals. We laughed and laughed all the way around the block with our untrained, poorly behaved, but very sweet dogs singing that classic Michael Jackson tune and holding each other up.

Winter has come way too early this year. We still have warm weather projects to finish and I am a slow study with the fireplace. Satu however can coax a roaring fire out of ashes that have been sitting overnight. I honestly think that she just wills fire into being. She is trying her best to keep me warm though and I can honestly say that her embrace is the warmest place in the world. There is no where in the world that I would rather be.