I usually don’t do the dialogue thing, because I never remember them, but this one I found very funny and made a note of it. I’m not going to lie, it could have been my glaucoma medicine cookie that made it seem so hilarious, so you might want to eat one and wait an hour before reading this.
Sadly, Mrs. Birdman didn’t even look up from her book until part way through, so picture her as indifferent while I talk. As usual.
Me: Wow, look at all the weight he’s lost. His skin is just hanging there now, all loose and droopy.
Mrs. Birdman: Ewww. Nice description.
Me: I remember watching Biggest Loser in the first season and hearing that they had to have surgery to remove excess skin, because there was so much that it couldn’t shrink back into place.
MB: Yeah, that makes sense.
Me: I wonder how that works? What do you think they do with all of the leftover skin? I would keep it.
This is where she started to look up from her book.
Me: I would keep the skin from my surgery.
MB: Jesus! What the fuck for?
MB: What is wrong with you? It doesn’t work that way. Why are you even talking about this?
Me: Because what else would they do with it? Feed it to dogs? It could be cryogenically frozen until needed. It would be perfect for skin grafts on your own body. They could culture it or something else that’s scientific.
MB: Oh my god, this is the craziest shit I’ve ever heard. You’re fucked. How do you suppose this would all work? You can’t just keep skin living in a freezer.
Me: CRYYYOOOOGENICAAAALLYYY FROZEN.
MB: You can’t just say words slow and loud to make it sound like it will work.
Me: You’re an asshole. It’s for if I get in a motorcycle accident without my leathers. I could put my own skin back on me.
MB: First of all, you don’t even have a motorcycle license, and you don’t have leathers. I’m done with this. Please stop talking about it.
Me: I used to have a motorcycle. Remember? That was so much fun riding to truck driving school in Bridgenorth.
MB: I didn’t know you then. Are you coming to bed?
Me: No. I need to write something.
MB: Then put some pants on. I love you.
Me: Love you too, baby.
I’m probably ad-libbing a bit at the end, because really, that’s a lot to remember when you are trying to prevent glaucoma.