Implied

When you live with someone for a while, I believe it’s a reasonable expectation for them to be able to interpret your meaning/intentions/body language…even if the actual communication is somewhat…garbled.

Don’t you agree?

Of course you do.

Anyone who knows me at all knows I have certain…phrases that are utilized on a regular basis. They include (in no particular order):

• WTF?
• Are you freakin’ kidding me?
• WTF? You have got to be kidding me. (Okay, so maybe this somewhat redundant but I feel it’s worth repeating.)
• If I can just remember to…(fill in must-do activity here)…I’ll be golden.
• Do you not know me?
• Hel-lo? (I’m starting to notice a trend here….huh.)
• How hard can it be?

And probably my most oft-used phrase:

• You know what I meant.

Taylor (18) and I were preparing to head out for Chris’ graduation party. Yes, the Chris with the stick-horse…that Chris:

Not the most excellent photographic quality… but in my defense, I took it with my cell and there were about a thousand people crowding in behind me vying for the optimal angle with which to take their own cell photo.

For edification, Chris’ father was holding up the horse to command attention from the grad-boy, who was not giving his father his undivided attention. Of course, the horse resolved that problem. Go ahead and say it…I know you’re thinking it. Freakin' genius.

And yet….so not the point of this post…

So, I’m brushing my teeth…the absolute/final/last/finishing touch to walking out the door…and Taylor walks into the room…shirtless, with camo shorts on.

Taylor: “Does it matter which shirt I wear? I’m thinking the red one.”

Clinton Kelly (IV with extraordinarily lousy timing): “He's not serious. There will be people…and cameras at this event. No. Absolutely not. I forbid it.”

Me (Mouth full of toothbrush/toothpaste): “Wha? Web? Wif dos sorts?? I dom fink fo. Uh-uh.”

Taylor (Exasperated): “What? Is that a yes?”

Me (I shake my head no): “(Garbled) Bwak?”

Taylor: “What? Go back…or…black? No...too hot. What about the bright blue one?”

Clinton: “Over my dead body. Tell him to lose the shorts. Doesn't the kid own anything neutral?”

Me: “I don no! Wha bout gway?”

Taylor: “What?”

Clinton: “What?”

Kathryn: “GWAY. GWAAAY.”

Clinton: “NEUTRAL. NEUTRAL. HEL-LO?”

Me: “Cab I pweeze spib oub da boobass? By mouf iz sdardig do bum…cwab...”

Taylor: “Whatever.”

Clinton: “Whatever.”

Me: (Sputtering…praying I’ll regain full use of my tongue by party time) “Change shorts. Khaki. Any shirt. I don’t give a crap. We gotta go.”

Clinton: “That’s my girl.”