The other night, I was diligently working from my home office when my husband interrupted to ask me a question.
Okay, so maybe I wasn’t doing so much of my actual work that earns me a paycheck. Perhaps when I said “diligently working” I meant I was googling picture of Ryan Gosling’s pecs and saving them to a file on my hard drive called “Now those are some real boobs.”
I looked up from my..ahem…”research” and discovered my sweet groom standing in the doorway with a puzzled look on his face. He looked distraught and immediately I knew something was plaguing him.
Since I’m a totally caring person (and because I was hoping if he was upset we could eat our feelings by getting milkshakes), I asked what was going on.
I could already taste the ice cream.
“Can I ask you something?” he asked, seeming a bit hesitant.
“Of course,” I responded, impressed with myself for being such a supportive and amazing wife (and trying to decide between a chocolate or strawberry milkshake).
“Well, we know for sure that trolls and dwarfs aren’t real, but is potion a real thing? Does potion actually exist?”
He. Was. Dead. Serious.
“First of all,” I responded, the lawyer in me wanting to immediately discredit his assertions, “Who says there’s no such thing as trolls? Look at Nicki Minaj.”
Boom. Point for female Newlin. I was getting ice cream for sure.
“Wow,” was his only response. He was totally impressed and it was clear he was speechless because of my awesome response.
“Second of all,” I pointed out, forging ahead with the momentum of victory. “Dwarfs also exist. Snow White had seven of them.”
Sometimes it’s just too easy for me.
He rolled his eyes and said, “But you still haven’t answered my question about potion. Is there such a thing as potion? Does it exist?”
“Well, I guess that depends on what your definition of potion is. What do you mean by ‘potion?”’
I wanted to tell him it also depended on what the definition of “is” is, but he’s too young to remember those blue-dress-wearing days of the Clinton administration, so I refrained.
He did not appreciate me answering his question with a question. I did not appreciate the precious time this conversation was taking over my quiet time with Ry-Ry and his bare chest.
“You know, potion!” he retorted almost immediately. ‘Like, the things that people use…potion. I’m not sure how else to describe it. POTIONS!”
At this point he seemed exasperated by me, not only because I was clearly mocking him, but because I wasn’t getting him closer to the answer he was looking for.
I pointed out that he couldn’t define a word by using that exact same word in the definition.
That’s spelling bee 101 and one of those basic, unspoken rules that everyone knows; like wash your hands before eating, or punch anyone in the face who wears a trucker hat.
It’s just common knowledge, and common decency.
In order to further clarify his request, and to continue to irritate him, I then went on to request the country of origin for the word “potion” along with the use of it in a sentence. He was not amused.
Clearly this was something nagging at him for a while if he felt compelled to interrupt my very important research. It made me wonder why he thought I would be an expert on potions.
Was it because of my recent surgery and familiarity with pain meds? Did he truly think I was the expert on potion?
Was I the first person he asked or did he ask around town and everyone was like “You know who would totally know the answer to that potion question? Your wife.”
“Well, honey, I’m not sure, although I’m pretty sure if you keep asking me about potions, one is going to mysteriously appear in your your pre-workout shake tomorrow morning,” I responded lovingly.
“Ugh,” he responded as he walked away. “You never take anything I ask seriously.”
“Yes, I never take your questions about trolls, dwarfs and potions seriously. I’m such an ass.”
And then I got ice cream…sans potion.