Just Guyton

Chris and I go walking together, and you might think that means we spend our time having meaningful conversations about life, marriage, and the world around us.

Sometimes we do.

Other times, I’m asking, “Did you just fart?”

And then, approximately thirty seconds later, “Is someone burning? Who’s burning?”

We have a lot of conversations like that.

This morning, I was trying to tell Chris about a proposal I had seen on Facebook involving childcare and stay-at-home parents. I knew what I was trying to say. The words were in there somewhere.

What came out was “Pregnancy Trump.”

And then I kept saying it.

Pregnancy Trump.

Pregnancy Trump.

At one point, I actually stopped and paused.

“No, that’s not right. He can’t be Pregnancy Trump because Pregnancy Trump is a boy and boys can’t get pregnant.”

And somehow, that was the part of the sentence my brain decided needed correcting. 😂

We also have a few phrases that have become part of our everyday vocabulary. We’ll be discussing something random, usually someone else’s opinion about something, and one of us will respond, “Thanks, I hate it.”

Or we’ll be talking about someone’s view of something and how much they dislike it, and the response will be, “Guess I’ll just die.”

It’s the kind of dry, exaggerated response that makes perfect sense in the conversation, even if it sounds ridiculous to anyone else.

And then there’s the famous “Lovely party, too bad I wasn’t invited,” from Ace Ventura.

That one has a way of finding its way into our conversations too.

Then there’s “Ya Motha.”

I’m very Southern. I do not have a New York accent. But that doesn’t stop me from putting one on when I say certain things to Chris.

And for some reason, “Ya Motha” just sounds better to me than “your mother” or “your mama.” I like that thick New York sound, and I will absolutely attempt to achieve it.

According to my husband, I’m fairly convincing.

So there. 😂

And occasionally, for reasons that make perfect sense to me, I’ll announce, “I’m walking here!”

Yes. I am. That is literally what we are doing.

Our walks also involve a surprising amount of bird identification. We play a lot of Wingspan, so we know our birds, and apparently that knowledge has followed us outside.

“Look at that tufted titmouse!”

“Look at that asshole mockingbird!”

“Look at that robin!”

“Look at that American goldfinch!”

“Look at that cardinal!”

“Blue jay!”

It’s like a real-life game of Wingspan, except nobody is laying eggs and I’m probably insulting a mockingbird.

And then there’s my musical career.

For some reason, Beyoncé’s “If I Were a Boy” has become “If I Were a Squirrel.”

“If I were a squirrel, I think I would understand what it felt to lounge in trees all day with an acorn in each hand.”

I don’t know why.

I just know that if I were a squirrel, I think I would understand. 😂

The funny thing is, these conversations don’t necessarily end when the walk does. They follow us into the grocery store, around the house, and pretty much anywhere else we happen to be together.

One of us says something ridiculous, the other one responds, and suddenly we have another phrase that will probably be repeated for the next six months.

I suppose that’s one of the things I love about our life together. We can talk about serious things, but we can also spend an entire morning laughing about absolutely nothing.

And sometimes, absolutely nothing is exactly what makes the day.

Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m walking here.

Pregnancy Trump. 😂