I mentioned before how B is a ridiculously funny man. He has a sense of humor that matches the quick witted ramblings of Sean Lock and Lee Mack, except I think he’s funnier. No really he is. I know everyone thinks their husband or partner or dog is funny. Humor is of course one of the top traits a woman looks for in a man, so if he’s not funny, then dear God, throw him back.
But B has always had an odd humor that simply leaves you thinking, “What the frick did he just say?” or “Where the hell did he come up with that?”, and then it hits and you realise, damn that’s clever and stupidly hilarious. You’re left snickering away while he concocts his next one liner to slap you round the head with again. Sounds painful. In fact, there’s been plenty of “Ah stop, me ribs are killin me” moments… FYI the Irish comes out when you’re doubled over in laughter. He gets mildly (and by mildly I mean irate) when a joke he came up with and threw out there a month or two ago, is repeated on a British panel show. “That’s mine”. Alright, funny man.
By mine he means that he isn’t a stand up, isn’t touring, has no copyright, is unpublished and I was probably the only one who heard the original joke. But the thought process swam out of his brain first… or at the same time as this comedian who is equally absurdly comical, so that’s a kudos in my books as the audience laugh and applaud a funny that my husband thought of first.
I’ve been trying to think of examples of his ridiculous hilarity, but of course Baby Brain has kicked in and I can literally only think of one which he said the other day.
Me: Mam and Dad have invited us up for dinner next week.
B: That’s grand but courgettes?
Me: Courgettes? What’s wrong with courgettes?
B: They’re horrible. Your Dad puts them in everything. I actually think your Dad is ohhh maybe 47, no 48% courgette.
Yes, he referred to my Dad as being 48% courgette. Now every time I see or think of my Dad, I picture him with two ripe courgette legs. Thanks B. Funny man.
Between the humor, the serious chats about life and the singing punk rock with A, B also has his moments of gushing romantic soliloquies that make my heart shudder … ah no, he doesn’t, sorry, what B does is create unusual, cryptic and oddly beautiful ways to compliment me and show that he loves me.
Today’s accolade and burst of love is the following:
I see myself as a claymore and you made me sharper by chipping away my rough edges. You are an elegant fleuret.