J and I met up at my office to get our paperwork notarized. We then went to my new apartment so we could spend some time and so I could show him my new digs. I, of course, mentioned Johan.
"I sneaked it into the paperwork and you signed it" J said. "I get the pig."
"No you don't!" I hollered, as though he meant it. He didn't.
I made copies of the paperwork on Wednesday (you need a LOT of copies) and then I emailed J the following:
A: The paperwork has been copied.
B: You said that you sneaked in something and I signed it and so you get the pig. That made me laugh and continues to make me laugh.
C: Do not say "no, I didn't really... the pig is too fat to fit into the paperwork."
That is all.
He responded:
He's on my poverty affidavit, and I get that jaunz. I hope he likes his new pig house. I set it up in the trunk of my car. It's a can of fix-a-flat. He could. . . stand. . . near it, I guess. But he won't really need to hide in my trunk. Nothing can get him in there.
Me?
Your 'poverty affidavit'?
And you know he will suffocate and die in your trunk! But that's OK because he will then haunt you in your dreams whilst his pig army tortures you when you are awake.
J:
Yes. I live well below the poverty line – as will the pig when he gets here.
That's my pig. Don't be touching him.
Me, the last word so far:
I'm going to smuggle him to a safe haven shelter. Then I will replace him with a decoy, one that is actually a rat, and the rat will escape in your car and attack you.
I do love that man. I know we are divorcing but he makes me laugh like a maniac and he knows just what to do to do so.
"I sneaked it into the paperwork and you signed it" J said. "I get the pig."
"No you don't!" I hollered, as though he meant it. He didn't.
I made copies of the paperwork on Wednesday (you need a LOT of copies) and then I emailed J the following:
A: The paperwork has been copied.
B: You said that you sneaked in something and I signed it and so you get the pig. That made me laugh and continues to make me laugh.
C: Do not say "no, I didn't really... the pig is too fat to fit into the paperwork."
That is all.
He responded:
He's on my poverty affidavit, and I get that jaunz. I hope he likes his new pig house. I set it up in the trunk of my car. It's a can of fix-a-flat. He could. . . stand. . . near it, I guess. But he won't really need to hide in my trunk. Nothing can get him in there.
Me?
Your 'poverty affidavit'?
And you know he will suffocate and die in your trunk! But that's OK because he will then haunt you in your dreams whilst his pig army tortures you when you are awake.
J:
Yes. I live well below the poverty line – as will the pig when he gets here.
That's my pig. Don't be touching him.
Me, the last word so far:
I'm going to smuggle him to a safe haven shelter. Then I will replace him with a decoy, one that is actually a rat, and the rat will escape in your car and attack you.
I do love that man. I know we are divorcing but he makes me laugh like a maniac and he knows just what to do to do so.
No comments:
Post a Comment