Once upon a time, when I was married to someone else (not Birdman, but a thoroughly disagreeable person who lived to control the world, and had to blame everything on SOMEONE, i.e. moi. I even took some blame for the Afghanistan war. Totally my fault.), I became slightly sarcastic and a little bit sardonic and cheeky. Sassy, too. I figured it was better than beaning him over the head with a bowling ball.
So, it was Christmas, and our kids were little, and I wanted money to buy Christmas presents. And he offered up his usual “We have no money. We don’t have a pot to piss in.”
Hmm. Now, I figured this situation would be easy to solve if I just got us a “pot to piss in.” Because if we HAD one, this little problem would no longer be standing in the way of our children having a Christmas with at least a FEW presents under the tree.
So I went to the local craft store, and I bought a little metal tin (enough for one piss per use). I then bought a gold calligraphy pen and wrote “pisspot’ on it, stuck some toilet paper in it, and put it under the tree.
And he never even noticed it. Then I got a royalty check and the kids got Christmas, and on Christmas morning, I pulled the pisspot out and sat it on his lap, and he just looked at it with a confused look on his face.
He did NOT even laugh. Not even a smile.
I’m sure at this point, you can see why I am no longer married to him. One needs a sense of humor, their own dose of sarcastic wit, and an appreciation for roller coaster rides to be married to me.
Wish Birdman luck.