The Banter Report
In bed at home, reading.
My girlfriend: What’s “augur” mean?
Me: Kind of like “predict”, or kind of like “foreshadow”.
My girlfriend: You’re smart. I wish I was smart.
Me: You wish you were smart.
Girlfriend, now in bad mood rather than subjunctive one, knocks book out of my hand. “You’re a dick!” she shouts. “Don’t you Banter Report that!”
* * *
In bed, watching fourth-season finale of The Sopranos, in which Tony attempts to back out of purchasing a beach house by parking his boat in front of the seller’s house and blasting Dean Martin songs.
Me: Well, it could certainly be worse than Dean Martin.
Half-asleep girlfriend: It could be that thing you were listening that time.
Me: What thing?
Half-asleep girlfriend: You know — that thing.
Me: I don’t know.
Half-asleep girlfriend: You’re pissing me off.
Me: I want you to get this.
Half-asleep girlfriend: You know … Dr. Monster and the Shit Kings.
Half-asleep girlfriend: Tuna. Something about fish.
Me: Oh. Captain Beefheart? Trout Mask Replica?
Half-asleep girlfriend: Yes.
I spring out of bed, headed for computer. “Don’t you Banter Report this!” my girlfriend shouts. Meanwhile, I type note to self: Start band called Dr. Monster and the Shit Kings.
* * *
My girlfriend: My grandparents still use the word “queer” to mean “strange”.
Me: That is totally gay.
“Don’t Banter Report my grandparents!”
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