Do They Have to Grow Up So Fast?

Get thee to a nunnery, go: farewell. Or, if thou wilt needs marry, marry a fool; for wise men know well enough what monsters you make of them.

-Hamlet, Act 3, Scene 1

Saturday, The Skating Gnu had her first date. Let me repeat that in case you missed it:

Her. First. Date.

When the hell did she get old enough to go out on dates?!?!? So, we agreed to meet her beau somewhere for sodas and hamburgers. His parents and me at one table, the two of them at another table, trying their best to wish us away or at least make us invisible.

All in all, it went off pretty well. Good, wholesome fun was had by all, hands remained on top of the table, daylight between everyone, etc. Nice kid, I should add, and just to answer the question written all over your faces, no, I did not bring semi-automatic weaponry. I left them all at home, well cleaned and polished. And loaded.

Dammit, she's growing up way too fast. There is talk of a second date sometime in the near future. Mrs. Gnu can chaperon the next one: my poor heart can't take anymore of this.

I feel old...

It's the end of the world as we know it.
It's the end of the world as we know it.
It's the end of the world as we know it,
And I feel fine.

-REM

I Love My Wife...

...she makes me laugh. More accurately, I've learned to push her buttons solely for the entertainment value. Slowly, she's learning when I do this.

Cue "24" ticking-bomb sound...

The following happened tonight between 6:47pm and 7:06pm

Mrs. Larriken (The Talking Gnu? I didn't say that...) and I are sitting on the couch, hungry, each waiting for the other to get up, so the one can say, "Fix me a little sup'm-sup'm while you're up, dear." I lost. Dammit, I'm hungry.

The Missus: "Dear, will you fix me a scrambled egg sammich, please? On toast."
Me: "Yes dear. One or two eggs?"
TM: "Two please. I love you."
Me: "I love me too, thanks for noticing. You want one or two sammiches?"
TM: (with warning look from aforementioned snide retort) "Two."
Me: "Salt?"
TM: "Nah."
Me: "Pepper?"
TM: "Nah."
Me: "Cheese?"
TM: "No..."
Me: "Bacon?"
TM: "No."
Me: "Mayo?"
TM: No. Just plain."

(pause, sound of pans rattling in the kitchen...)

Me: "Hot Sauce?"
TM: "What!?"
Me: "Hot sauce. Want hot sauce on your eggs?"
TM: "No, just two plain egg sammiches."
Me: "Okay."

(pause, cooking sounds...)

Me: "Sure you don't want hot sauce? I can make it mild..."
TM: "No, *dear*. No hot sauce."

(pause, toast pops out of toaster...)

Me: "Want me to mix your hot sauce with mayo, make a Southwestern sauce out of it?"
TM: (through gritted teeth) "No. No hot sauce. just two plain egg sammiches. On. Toast."

(pause, finished cooking...)

Me: "Okay, sweetie, here's your two egg sammiches, on toast with mild hot sauce, just like you ordered."
TM: "Oh for the love of - ARRRRRGHHHHHH!" (stomps off)

Friends, if you happen to see me running across the lawn in a zig-zag fashion, you'll know she's found the keys to the gun safe...