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We had to go to town today. Catching up on all sorts of things we haven’t been able to do for two weeks. Undoing others mistakes in one case, but mostly just errands. The normal crap of life as human.

I figure that’s bad enough. I don’t care much for making all those stops and jumping in and out, standing in lines, you know the drill.

It’s much worse with a husband along I can tell ya. If we lived in the Contrarian’s world, then an alert would go out that he is “comin’ to town.” Everyone would be required to get off the road, and all establishments that he is interested in frequenting would be open and ready for his business.

Still, he would find reason to complain. It’s his nature. And he complains in a completely unique manner I have to tell ya. He mauls and utterly eviscerates the English language. I would claim that he does it intentionally, but mostly it’s just laziness. He’s too important relative to the subject of his speech, who aren’t worthy of being correctly remembered by NAME.

I can give you lots of examples. Sit back, grab a drink and listen up.

Today he told me that he had watched the British version of Antiques Roadshow. A woman, for reasons unknown, showed pictures of a dish she had prepared. It went something like this:

“She had this pie crust, in a pie plate, but not a real pie plate–it had wavy edges, but still a pie plate ya know.”

“She put these sausages in a pin wheel in the center, and then poured in this eggy stuff and baked it.”

“That would be a Quiche,” I suggested.

“No, I”m pretty sure it didn’t have the Quiche ingredient,” he propounded.

“Oh, well, the eggy stuff was in all likelihood a custard.”

“No, it was more scrambled eggs I’d say.”

“Well, when we get to the meat market, you just go right on in, and go ask them to point you to the Quiche ingredient,” I chortled. “And while you are at it, get some of that mozzerelli for a pizza.”

He smirked. “Well, you know what I meant.”

The sad thing is I do.

“Could you put proshotti in that eggy thing do ya think?” he said with all seriousness.

“You are referring to prosciutto I assume?” I replied acidly.

“Funny, funny,” he dryly intoned.

Welcome to my world. Deciphering the Contrarian.

I’m thinking that I need to start a blog called S#*! My Husband Says. You know, like the twitter guy and the new Bill Shatner show? I call him Bill because we are twitter friends, so we can be more intimate name wise.

We’ve been watching a show about the solar system, done by a nice British man who is a physicist. You cannot believe what we went through when he was describing a moon of Saturn which contained methane. The British pronounce it MEthane, instead of METHane. Lord, you would think the poor man was molesting Himalayan mountain goats.

He does that regularly, with the British. Complains that they don’t speak English properly. Coming from a man who refers to Venus and Serena Williams as the “Flytrap” sisters.

When I suggest that the British have been speaking English far longer than we, I get no traction. We Americans straightened out all those mispronunciations. No LaBORatory, but LABratory here! And we got rid of those curious q’s lurking in cheque instead of the correct spelling check. And the idiotic way they spell gaol for jail! Unbelievable.

As I said, the man has chutzpah.

Getting him started on the British can be an awful thing. Soon he is expounding on why they are driving on the wrong side of the road.

I’ve come across a recipe that I can’t wait to try this week, for Tandoori Chicken. Of course he refers to it as Chicken Teriyaki, and Chicken Tandoriev, and Chicken Tandorelli. I tell him it’s neither Japanese, nor Russian nor Italian (or as he would say Eyetalian), but INDIAN.

He then starts to shriek, “it doesn’t have curry in it does it?”

The man has never eaten curry in his life, but he is “pretty sure he wouldn’t like it.”

“No curry. Just yogurt,” I giggle, knowing the look he will give me now.

“YOGURT? You gotta be kiddin’ me. That’s like that TUFO stuff isn’t it? You can look at that stuff and know it’s not eatable.”

“NO! Yogurt is made from milk. Tofu is made from soy beans. One is a dairy product, the other is a protein. Good grief!”

“Well, as I always say, if God hadn’t wanted us to eat meat, he wouldn’t have made animals. So no TUFO curry yogurt crap for me!”

“Damn pay per view only has that stupid Siley Mirus movie on. I don’t wanna see that!”

“Yes dear, Miley Cyrus is probably not your cup of tea.”

“Hey, they are having a show of outtakes on what’s her name, woman who pulls on ear!”

“Okay, go ahead and tape Carol Burnett my sweet. That should be good for some laughs.

But then, home is a good place for laughs isn’t it?