I don’t wanna be bean bag chairs

Dating Aloysius is like dating a retarded toddler. Okay, well maybe not retarded because his vocabulary is quite extensive. Maybe more like a gifted toddler. I know. I teach gifted kids and they come up with some truly off the wall stuff. A gifted student once asked me “how does this work” in reference to a stapler. When I responded in a duh tone of voice that “it staples things”, he looked at me with a mix of incredulity and embarassment, remarking “well of course I know that.” Oh yes, of course. So yeah, I’ll say a gifted toddler though now I can’t ever let Aloysius read this because that sort of skewed insult within a compliment will go straight to his head.

Anyhow, I say all of this after a conversation the other day regarding home safety. Sitting on the couch watching TV, Aloysius inquired how I would defend my apartment if an intruder were to burst through the door. If this were to actually ever happen I would likely stick to my tried and true response of covering my face with my hands and then curling into the fetal position, hyperventilating. I startled easily and so Aloysius has seen my plan in action, which works like a charm if my threat is limited to, say, a swarm of good intentioned butterflies.

It amazes me that how, as a species, we’ve managed to evolve, or devolve as it may be, into easily startled, allergic to the sun, cant digest the protein our teeth were made to chew beings, all thanks to a modern lifestyle. Nevertheless I fit a few of these categories of devolution and so needless to say I would likely need outside help in the event of an attack. Aloysius did show me a martial arts choke once, but it really only works if my attacker is running at me backwards and is of my approximate same height and build. I thought I would get it use it once on a man backing out of an alley who I’m sure was carrying a gun or some sort of shanking device, but he turned out to only be carrying flowers, and all that happened was that I dug nail marks into my friends arm. Aloysius has a few defense tricks up his sleeve, being well versed in jiu jitsu and owning a healthy measure of guns, so he’s set.

As I was processing his question and trying to come up with an answer that didn’t make me sound pathetic, his face lit up as he exclaimed “I know, we can be bean bag chairs”, and then proceeded to flop his body atop me and loll his tongue out as though a dehydrated puppy. “You pretend too!”

“Honey, I’m not gonna…”

“PRETEND!!”

::sigh::  ”fine….I’m a bean bag chair” I said, as I assumed the position.

“See, cause then the attacker will come in and be like, oh, just a bunch of bean bags”

And this is when I was pretty well forced to say “Honey, I don’t want to be bean bag chairs.”

In the end we just started keeping a firearm at my place. (Oh pipe down this is Texas, you’re lucky I don’t ride a horse to work).

It should be noted that Aloysius continued to “be bean bag chairs” throughout the evening,  including when I asked him to take down the trash and he quickly flopped over mumbling “can’t…bean bag chair”.

A. Bean bag chairs don’t talk
and
1.  I’m so glad our home safety plan can multi-task.

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