Sometimes, my husband tells me stories about his childhood. They usually involve weapons. Last night I had the privilege of hearing the following tale while washing the chili-bean bowls.
Derrick: “When my mom went out of town once, my dad turned out all the lights in the house, opened the sliders and doors, and he gave us all pistols. Then I think we took turns being bad guys and trying to sneak around and we would shoot each other…”
Me: “Pistols? Real Pistols?”
Derrick: “Seriously? You are asking? They were real, I capped my brother and my dad and that’s why I’m telling you this story, because they’re alive today and NO THEY WERE NOT REAL! How could you ask if they were real? I can’t believe you asked if they were real!”
Me: “What were they then?”
Silence. Derrick is too busy laughing hysterically to answer me. He is holding his sides to keep them from splitting.
Me: “What kind of pistols were they!?!?”
Derrick: “You know, whatever we had lying around…nerf guns etc. Why would my dad give us real pistols? What kind of Father do you think he is?”
Me: “I thought he gave you his guns, you know, unloaded.”
Derrick: “No. Oh brother.”
I think this is a classic example of why communication is key in marriage. One misunderstanding and you start believing your father in law needs a course in gun safety and maybe child care.