I met 2.0 on September 11, 2008. That’s nine years of 2.0 being 2.0 to enjoy. Let’s look back on just a few of my favourite moments with him, shall we?
2.0: Our neighbours have been asking if we’re Jewish.
2.0: OUR NEIGHBOURS ASKED IF WE ARE JEWISH.
movita: Yah, I heard you, I’m just… surprised. I mean, who asks that? Wait. Which neighbours? Those ones? (pointing out the window)
2.0: (nodding) Yup. Those ones.
movita: They just came over and asked?
2.0: Uh huh. When you were at work.
movita: What the heck?! You can’t just ask about someone’s religion, can you? Are we doing that now? I mean, we didn’t ask about their sexuality. We just figured it out. WE DIDN’T ASK. And even though we aren’t Jewish, we could be Jewish, and it’s weird to just walk across the street to ask if we’re Jewish. We don’t even know them! Didn’t they see the wreath on our front door? Couldn’t they just figure it out? WAIT. It doesn’t even matter! Wreath or no wreath, it’s a weird question to ask. Unless… Oh. My. God. Did it seem like they have a problem with us being Jewish? TELL ME EXACTLY WHAT THEY SAID.
2.0: They asked if we were going to put up Christmas lights this year.
2.0: I said, THEY ASKED IF WE WERE GOING TO…
movita: Please stop talking.
Last weekend, 2.0 and I hosted a family barbecue. At 10:45 am he cracked open a beer, turned to me and said, “Do you think it’s too early to start vacuuming?” No. I didn’t think it was too early to start vacuuming. At 12:30 pm, with a few empties in hand, he ran into the house and yelled, “I cleaned the barbecue! AND the front tires of the car!!” Things progressed as you might expect after that.
I hate leaf blowers. Actually, hate doesn’t even begin to describe it. I don’t wanna get into a longversation about ’em, but I will tell you that they send me into a complete rage. Recently 2.0 brought one home from work, climbed atop his truck, held it over his head and revved it up while I watched from the living room window. That’s why he’s dead now.
Ebony the Cat has been under the weather. We have to administer eye drops every 12 hours for the rest of her life. (Thus, our fun is now planned in increments of no more than 12 hours.) When I had to take Ebony to the vet last week, 2.0 came home from work just to see her before her appointment. He wanted to tell her that he loves her and would feel bad if anything happened to her, and then he kissed her head. When I went for my MRI two weeks ago, 2.0 did NOT stop by to check on me, say he loved me, or kiss me on my head. As he left for work that morning, he said I should let him know if they decided to keep me at the hospital indefinitely so he could bring me a change of underpants.
On New Year’s Eve, a situation arose whilst 2.0 and I were visiting the Beaucoups. We were there for dinner, games, and festivities. After a trip to the washroom, I typed the following message on my iPhone and slid it across the table to 2.0:
I made a double flusher. Go do the second flush.
I assumed that he would excuse himself from the table and address the situation because we both know what a double flusher is, and we’re supposed to back each other up in these circumstances. He didn’t.
At first I thought he was trying to be discrete, as running to the bathroom immediately after my departure might have been a giveaway. But it became apparent that he was more focused winning Carcassonne than my request for assistance. After about 20 minutes, and a good deal of worrying that someone else would get to the washroom before 2.0, I typed:
I made a double flusher a long time ago – GO PEE AND DO THE SECOND FLUSH!
2.0 looked down at the phone and nodded reassuringly. And then he slid my phone across the table to my mother. She read the message, and then handed it on to my brother, who passed it on to my dad. I’d like to tell you that I was completely traumatized by the event, but once you’ve almost pooped your pants in public, your threshold for this sort of thing gets adjusted significantly.
. . .
Happy anniversary, 2.0!