Timberlake Not Bieber

I often read Thomas my stories before I post them.  Sometimes I read them over and over until I get them right.  There is not a lot of feedback on his part.  However, I think it helps me when I hear it. 

Anyway, the following is the conversation we had about my post, "J.T. Is My Favorite".

I wrote the first paragraph and then read it to him.  He smiled. 

I wrote the second paragraph to him and he said, “First Justin Bieber and now Bette Midler?”  I said, “Not Bieber, Timberlake.  Timberlake.  I love Timberlake.”

I wrote the third paragraph and read it to him and then he told me windmills are not fans and then explained how a windmill works.  I said, “You know what, I’m going to Google it and then show you that you’re wrong.  Birds CAN soar between windmills, I know it.  It totally makes sense.  Unlike how an airplane can be in the air.  That shit’s messed up.  HA!”

He then laughed and laughed and dashed my dreams.  Smashed them.  What kind of person am I married to?

I finished the Windmill/Justin post and turned to him:

Me:  I’m going to read it to you one more time in its entirety.

Thomas:  Why?  Haven’t I heard it enough?

Me:  You have to hear it all together.  It’s like poetry.  You can’t hear it broken up in pieces.  It has to flow.

Thomas:  Fine.  Go ahead and read it.

Me:  Ok.  Are you going to listen?

Thomas:  I’ll hear you.

Me:  No.  Are you going to listen to the words and TAKE THEM INTO YOUR HEART or are you just going to hear Mwaw, Mwaw, Mwaw, Mwaw, Mwaw?

Thomas:  Will you just read me the freaking post!

Me:  Fine.  But really try to take it in.  I feel like this is one of my more lyrical posts.  You know, not just about bodily functions, but about the wind.  Wind is kind of a bodily function.  Oh, well.  Anyway… 

Thomas looked over at me and then faced forward again.  He’s driving, which means he’s trapped with me in the van.  Unless he leaves me at the side of the road he’s going to hear it as many times as I want him to.  Actually, he has been known to pull the van off the road and tell me to give him ten minutes of quiet or get out and he’ll come back for me.  I try to be silent as long as possible, because I’m not quite certain if he’ll come back.

I read him the post, again, in all its splendid gloriousness.

Thomas:  That sounds fine.

Me:  Fine?

Thomas:  Yep, fine.

Me:  Fine?!?!  You know what?  I’m going to write another post about how much of a jerk you are and then I’m NOT going to read it to you before I post it and then the first time you see it will be the same time as everyone else and then you won’t be able to say anything.

(Ok, as I was writing the above paragraph I noticed that I was moving my head side to side and wiggling my shoulders and z-snapped in the air.  Don’t tell Thomas, but I think there might be something wrong with me.)

Me:  I’m going to let people know what you are really like.  (Devious laugh).

Thomas:  It doesn’t really matter anyway, because you never write down exactly what I say. 

Me:  I do too.  My mind is like an ironclad safe.  I have everything you’ve ever uttered stored in there. 

Thomas:  Really, let’s go back and look at some older posts.  Also, you can’t remember jack.  What did we have for dinner last night?

Me:  I don’t have time to play these games.  Besides, I am a writer, and as a writer I get to use a creative license to make the words flow.

Thomas:  You mean make shit up?

Me:  No!!!!!!

And then do you know what he did?  DO YOU KNOW WHAT HE DID?  We had been on the road for about 2 hours listening to “HIS” music and as I was sulking, because I’m very mature, he flipped the music over to Blue October.

Me:  I love Blue October.

Thomas:  I know.

Me:  You’re the best!

Thomas:  I know.

Me:  One little thing.  I’m half way through this post in which I’m slamming your ass, can you listen to what I have so far?