Death by Tijuana
"Hola, gringo. Let us take a weight off your shoulders."
For several months now, my wife and I have been living in separate states. Me in California, and her in Illinois (thankfully, she'll be moving out soon). This has forced me to adopt the use of the telephone much more than I am accustomed. I'm just not a phone guy, but I know I have to maintain communication with my spouse to maintain a healthy relationship. Since I'm a fan of healthy relationships, I'll call my wife a few times a day. . . once or twice a day from work, then later at night. Here's a somewhat typical conversation that occurred a while ago.
WIFE: "Hello?"
ME: "Hey."
WIFE: "Hey. How's it going?"
ME: "Good. How're you?
WIFE: "Good. Carl's being a dick." (Carl is our dog.)
ME: "Why?"
WIFE: "He won't listen to me, and he keeps picking on Lenny." (Lenny is our other dog.)
ME: "Well, ya gotta assert yourself. He thinks he's in charge."
WIFE: "Yeah, I know. I know. It's just annoying. Anything going on with you?
ME: "I think Pooter and I might go down to Tijuana some weekend." (Pooter is a buddy of mine that moved out to L.A.)
WIFE: "Oh, hell no."
ME: "What? Why not? I doubt we're going to a donkey show or anything. And I'm not planning on getting a whore. And I'm sure I won't drink too much since I'll be driving. We won't be too stupid."
WIFE: "It's not that. They're kidnapping people down there."
ME: "I'm not going to get kidnapped."
WIFE: "It happens! The drug gangs kidnap people and behead them."
ME: "Well, if that happens, it'd be a good way to go."
WIFE: "No it wouldn't! It would be an awful way to die!"
ME: "Beheaded by a Tijuanan drug lord? That would be a spectacular way to die. Better than colon cancer. And you'd get a ton of insurance money."
WIFE: "I don't care about the money. It would be tragic."
ME: "Yeah, a national tragedy. I'd be on the news and shit. It'll be great!"
WIFE: "Baloney. It's not a good way to die."
ME: "It is. You're wrong. Ask that guy you work with."
WIFE: "Fine, just a second. . . Grant, would you rather die of cancer or be beheaded by a Tijuanan drug lord? . . . My husband. . . Yeah. . . Colon. . . No. . . Okay, he said beheaded, but I still don't want you to go."
ME: "Told you. Just don't worry, we'll go during the day. It'll be fine."
WIFE: "I'll be a nervous wreck the entire time."
ME: "Oh, get over it."
WIFE: "I wouldn't be able to. Okay, here's the deal. You can go, but you can't tell me. I don't want to know when you're going, where you're going, who you're going with. Nothing. I don't want to hear about it after you go. Just don't tell me anything about it."
ME: "Okay."
WIFE: "And you have to buy me something. . ."
ME: "Goodbye, dear."
WIFE: "Goodbye."
And I think I'd still be able to use the last words that I want to: "Hold my cerveza. Watch this."
Death by Giraffe
"It's okay. . . it's okay. Look into my adorable eyes as the warm elixir of death washes over you. Sleep now. It's okay. . . it's okay."
A couple weeks ago, my wife came out to California for a visit. One day, we decided to go to the zoo. We got there, and displayed on a placard next to the ticket booth was a description of special events and extras that you could purchase.
ME: "Do you want to do the train ride?"
WIFE: "Yeah, that'll be fun."
ME: "Alright. And I'm assuming you'll want to do the giraffe feeding."
WIFE: "Naw, that's okay. We can save the six dollars."
(Note: This was a totally atypical response from my wife. Her normal response would be an enthusiastic "Yes! Duh. . .", but I think the fact that I got pinched by CHiPs for speeding on the way to the zoo threw her off her game. Fuck you Ponch and/or Jon.)
ME: "No giraffe feeding? Are you sure? I think we can afford six bucks."
WIFE: "No, it's okay. I'll be fine."
ME: <Shit. She's 'fine.' This is going to be a long day.> "Alrighty then. Let's go watch the piranha feeding at 11:00, then take the train ride, then we'll meander. I just want to see monkeys."
WIFE: "Sounds good. I want to see the big cats."
ME: "That works, let's go."
And off we went. We watched the piranhas eat (which was cool), saw a prehensile-tailed skink (a species I was completely unaware of), took the train ride (which was somewhat lame), and began to meander.
Eventually, the shackles of the stress of the day began to fall off, and we started to just enjoy the zoo. We saw monkeys, apes, big cats, and the giraffes. The giraffe area had an elevated perch along side of it where paying customers would walk out and hold out pieces of lettuce for the giraffes. My wife caught sight of one of these feedings.
WIFE: "Oh. My. God. I wanna do that."
ME: "You said you didn't want to."
WIFE: "I lied. Let's go."
We walked around to the other side where the feeding took place and gave the young lady six dollars for my wife to enter. I asked if I could go out on the platform with her to take photos. She told me that would be fine, then began her instructions.
ZOOGIRL: "You'll have five pieces of romaine lettuce. Walk out to the end of the platform. They'll see you and come over to feed, you don't have to call them. Put one piece of lettuce at a time in your flattened palm and hold out your hand. They will take it from your hand. Do not make any sudden moves or try to pet the giraffe."
ME: "What happens if you try to pet them? Or make sudden moves?"
ZOOGIRL: "They might become aggressive."
ME: "What might they do?"
ZOOGIRL: "They can attack you with their head. They'll crush your head with their head."
ME: "Oh my god. . . wow. . . that would be. . . awe-haw-haw-some!"
WIFE: "Thanks, dear."
ME: "What? What a great way to die!"
WIFE: "Stop."
ME: "Don't worry, I'll still wear the ring. People will ask me if I'm married, and I'll say, 'No, I'm widowed.' And they'll be all 'Awww, I'm sorry to hear that. Was it a car accident? Cancer?' And I'll be all 'No, my wife's head was crushed by a giraffe.'"
WIFE: "Please stop."
ME: "Okay, I just want you to know that 'head crushed by giraffe' is a great way to die. And that I love you very much. Oh, look! Here he comes! I think he wants you to pet him. . . "
WIFE: "I love you too, dear."
Needless to say, my wife resisted the urge to pet him, thereby escaping the homicidal rage of giraffa camelopardalis. I'm telling you, though. If my wife's on her deathbed at the age of 90, we're going to that zoo and she's petting that goddam giraffe.
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