February 24, 2009

I woke up this morning and looked over at John, whose eyes were open in that not-really-awake-yet way.
"I just had a weird thought", he said.
"Yep", I answered without a great deal of surprise or interest. John often has weird thoughts just before he falls asleep or just after waking up. He tends to think that they are kind of fascinating, but he is usually mistaken. He once spent half an hour pontificating about decorative shrubbery and the people whose job it is to prune it. It's like that guy you knew in college who always thought that he tapped into some sort of creative vein of genius when he was high, but really he was just mumbling nonsense to himself while you rolled your eyes. But anyway.
"Yeah", said John dreamily. "When I get old -- you know, assuming I do --"
"Why wouldn't you?"
"Come on, Meg. But anyway, I was thinking that if my teeth fall out, I mean, eventually there'll totally be a market for 'Dentures For The Compromised!' Fangtures!"
"You don't get fangs, exactly", I said. John doesn't retain a tremendous amount of memory during the worst of the cycle. I retain it. As such, I am not as amused by his flight of whimsy here as he seems to be. "Also, frankly, one sharp body part down would be kind of a nice advantage for the home team", I added.
"Yeah, yeah. Of course. I would go out and buy the dentures, and then you would take them away, and I would be down there during a cycle grumbling about 'Woman, find me my fangs", and you would have secretly hidden them in the wolfsbane bush, and it would be like a sitcom! Like Lucy and Desi, except with a little smattering of Buffy The Vampire Slayer thrown in!"
To which I wisely said nothing. A person who combines I Love Lucy and Buffy The Vampire Slayer first thing on a Tuesday morning is not a person with whom reasonable discourse can take place.