I could not think of anything to write a blog post about (I know, All Tempest All The Time, only I could not think of anything new to say about that either). My husband, Steven, suggested I write a post about my silly husband. Now I am afraid he will be dreadfully disappointed if I do not write such a blog post, so here goes.
The most glaring example of Steven’s silliness is that he was silly enough to marry me. Obviously somebody married to me must be very silly, or perhaps a glutton for punishment (which is also, arguably, a silly way to be). As anybody who has actually met me knows and readers of this blog suspect, I am no picnic. Oh, I’m sure I have my good points, but we’re not talking about me. The operative thing to do next is to give other concrete examples of how Steven is silly. Well, for one thing, he has dubbed me the silliest. Can you imagine such a thing? Me, silly! Well, I do write a silly blog, but, once again, we are not talking about me.
When my nieces were younger, it was quite the family controversy of who was the silliest, me or Steven. Showing their wisdom and discernment, my nieces usually concluded that it was Steven, although for some unaccountable reason, the scales sometimes tipped in my direction. My niece Gillian, however, wholeheartedly embraced Uncle Steve as the silliest. Being a gentleman (albeit a silly one), he returned the favor.
One Christmas when I spoke to Gillian on the phone, she asked how The Silliest was. Steven, in the background, said, “Tell her to quit talking about herself.” When I asked Gillian what she had gotten for Christmas, she told me that one of her presents was a pig. Steven immediately began saying, “Oink, oink. Oink, oink,” to which Gillian replied, “Tell him to quit talking about himself.”