Vignettes

It was when Jess and I were texting the day after our first date that I realized she was hilarious. She was telling me the story where she had been propositioned by a pimp:

I was pumping gas, and he called to me from another spot and said something about my appearance. I said I was married (I wasn’t) and he said, “Your husband should be doing that for you.” I said something like “I can do it myself” and he said something about my being an independent woman. Then he said, “How would you like to make some money?”

I responded with:

Worst pimp ever. You don’t still go to that gas station, do you?

Jess replied immediately:

Only when I need the extra cash.

We went to Jewel’s Bakery & Cafe again (we went there on our second date, and a few more times after that) on our way to take pictures of the old condo for the eventual listing. They told us it’d be a bit of a wait and asked for my name and phone number; once again, I couldn’t remember my name, but Jess reminded me that it wasn’t William.

We figured, while we waited, we’d walk around and explore the local businesses in the strip mall. It was a Sunday and most were closed. As we neared the end of the strip mall, I noticed something.

It was a thick cloud of swarming insects, making a relatively loud hum.

Nonchalently, I asked, “Are those bees or wasps?”—in a kind of curious, unbothered tone.

Jess thought about my question for a moment.

Then we both realized the meaning of my words. Bees or wasps—it didn’t matter.

“Oh, fuck!” we both exclaimed.

We turned around and sprinted toward the restaurant, both terrified and laughing at the absurdity of my question.

Christmastime came around about just barely two months of dating. To make Jess laugh, I said I wanted to write a fish-themed Christmas song parody. I can’t remember if it was “We Wish You a Merry Fishmas” or “Holly Jolly Fishmas” or “It’s Beginning to Smell a Lot Like Fishmas.”

“What would Fishmas actually be?” asked Jess.

We had arrived upon a comedic premise.

“It’s like Christmas, but every present the kids unwrap is a different fish,” I threw out.

“When are they wrapped?”

“December 1st,” I said.

We were laughing riotously.

“We should do Fishmas with our kids,” one of us playfully suggested.

“The fish stinking up the whole house sitting under the Fishmas tree—they’d call child services on us!” laughed Jess, wiping away a mirthful tear.

“Imagine if they go to school,” said Jess.

I thought about the rule-of-threes whilst remembering that we had joked about naming our children after different dinosaurs.

“‘What’d you get for Christmas, Billy?’

“‘I got a bicycle.’

“‘What’d you get for Christmas, Jason?’

“‘I got a Play-Station!’

“‘What’d you get for Christmas, Velociraptor?’

“‘I got a trout.’”

We riffed for an hour, crying from laughter. Every once in a while, we remember Fishmas and riff on it some more.