Soda fountain

I was heading out the door today, to go to work, but decided to make a quick stop at the store to pick up some milk (okay, soda and popsicles) and drop it off before I went in.

Successful in maneuvering the shopping in 20 minutes or less, I happily pulled into the driveway, where Mr W magically opened the door at that exact moment.  These things, blessed timing, never happen to me.

I turned to open the van door, and a two liter of soda fell out and hit the ground pretty hard.  It landed on one of those little sharp-bastard landscaping rocks, and of course, a couple of small holes were punctured into it.

It doesn't take a rocket scientist to know what happened next.  Soda spraying everywhere, I'm in a bit of a duh-panic, and I picked up the bottle.

Like my oldest son said, when he heard this story, "And you went to college?"

Wait--the "no way she's that stupid" part comes next.

Not only am I already bathed in Caffeine-free Diet Pepsi, but I decide that I need to loosen the cap (to relieve the pressure, and hopefully stop the spraying).

Yeah, son, I went to college.

The bottle, offended at this other slight, proceeds to almost explode in my hands.  I tighten the lid back down immediately...and realize....

Crap, I'm gonna have to change.  So much for trying to go in a bit earlier than I expected. 

What the hell is that noise?

It's Mr W, choking with laughter.  He's laughing so hard, he's crying.  I'm kinda laughing too, because, well, this stuff always happens to me. 

Laugh, laugh, he's laughing so much, when I shoot a glare his way, he retreats inside, and I can still hear him.

I hate him.  This stuff never happens to him.

By now, I've given up on the bottle.  And my dignity. 

I set it down and reached for a different bag.  The bottle stopped spurting soda about the time Mr W finally got a hold of himself.  When the level of soda was lower than the holes, of course.

To think, I passed organic chemistry once.  And physics too.

You'd of never guessed that looking at me today.  Covered with soda like I'd entered a wet t-shirt contest. 

On the bright side, my hair was spared.  Although I'm sure the soda would have worked as well as that high dollar jar of hair goo sitting on my bathroom counter does.

I'm mock-angry at Mr W, which makes him start laughing again.  "Oh, come on," he chortles, "if that happened to me, you'd be laughing your ass off too, and plopping right down to blog about it.  You know it's funny--"  "It is not." 

But it is. 

I called him later, and I said:  "Being married to me, it's not boring, is it?"

To which he replied, "Not when you do stuff like that, it's not." 

The secret to marriage, it seems, is to be a constant source of amusement for your spouse.

I think it's safe to say I've got that covered.