After the tear jerker I laid on you last night, I’ll try and lighten the mood a little. C, a.k.a. Legless, is funny. Your typical funny-guy. It’s one of the things that I found attractive about him initially (he’s also very pretty but what can I say? I was 18). That being said, since his injury, his humor can sometimes border on offensive. I don’t know if it’s a military thing, or if it’s because of the TBI or what, but there are definitely times where I’ve had to give his real leg a good, swift kick under the table.
Tonight was one such night.
Now let me preface this story by saying that in the nearly 5 years since his injury, we have a system when neither of us wants to cook. And it usually goes something like this:
“C, I don’t want cook. You do it.”
“No way, I did it last night.”
“Yeah, but I worked all day.”
“Yeah, but I don’t have a leg.”
Touché. Sometimes there’s a bit more back and forth but usually by this point in the conversation we both know we’re going to order from the pizza/sandwich place in the next town over. And the unspoken agreement is that he will call in the order and stay home with the kids so as not to have to put his leg or pants back on and I’ll drive to pick it up.
Tonight was an order out night. Per our usual routine, I get in the car and start driving while C orders from the house. I get to the shop, walk up to the counter and say, “hello, my husband just placed an order for pick up. It’s probably under Alice.” Girl looks at the order sheet, “sorry, nothing for Alice. Was it maybe under a different name?” I give her C’s name. Nope. I give our last name. Nope. Huh. Weird. I text C. “What is the name the foods under?” He texts back: “Jesus Christ.”
Of course it is.
I sheepishly turn back to the counter where the girl is standing, waiting to help me. Of course by this time a small line has formed and I have to give the girl the name the food is under. “Um, Jesus Christ?” I practically whisper. The girl smirks and turns around to get our food leaving me red cheeked and cursing C under my breath. WHY?
Smirky returns with the food, I paid and booked it out of there. The drive home is short, and once I moved past the thought that the kids and I would probably be just fine with his life insurance payouts I thought more about C. He’s changed since Afghanistan, absolutely. Sometimes it drives me up a wall, but usually it’s for the better. We’ve been forced to grown up together, from some crazy 22 year old kids who just wanted to make a marriage work, to the nearly 29 year old adults/partners/parents who are making a family work. We’ve grown together and learned a lot about each other. And he’s got his embarrassing quirks, but so do I. Honestly, I was over it before I even pulled into the driveway. Because I realized that we’re a team. And we’ve got our own twisted humor to help us through.