Sometimes, It's Not So Cute

A lot of these stories are funny.

This one is not. My wife often lacks the ability to appropriately prioritize things.

I was spending the evening with the kids recently when my wife was working a part-time job. I was trying to help my daughter change into her pajamas when, in the process of trying to escape, she slammed her face into my knee.

She started crying so I picked her up to calm her down. That's when I noticed the blood. I quickly surmised it was coming from her nose so I trotted over to the bathroom, grabbed a wet washcloth, and held her head back while applying some mild pressure.

She calmed down, and I cleaned her face and hands off (she had been instinctively rubbing her nose during this process). Within twenty minutes she was back to normal and playing happily. Both kids went to bed without incident.

When my wife got home later, I started to recount the story.

"...and I looked up and saw the blood on her face, my shirt, her clothes..."

"Whoa", she interrupted, "there's blood on HER NEW OUTFIT?!"

"Well, yes."

She starts to simmer and make exasperated noises.

"Wait, you're not mad at me are you. Are you saying it's my fault that her clothes are stained? Don't you even care how she's doing?", I continued.

"Just shut up.", she replied.

She spent the rest of the evening cleaning the few drops of blood out of our daughter's clothes.

Square Peg, Round DVD

The other day, I turned on the stereo for the kids to listen to in their playroom. I noticed there was already a disk inserted, so I figured she had already been listening to something.

The player refused to start however. Upon ejecting the disk, I realized she had been attempting to play a DVD in the CD player.

I supposed I could chalk it up to confusion, since we sometimes play CDs on our DVD player, but this particular stereo is about seventeen years old.

Scary Technology

Recently, my wife and I stopped off at the grocery to pick up a few things. She was just picking some stuff up for herself, and I was tagging along.

As we approached the checkouts, she breezed past several of the kiosks where you can check yourself out, and chose to wait in line elsewhere, even though she only had a few items.

"Why don't you just go to one of the self-checkout things?", I asked her.

"Those things scare me.", she replied.

I could understand this if we were in our eighties, but we are quite a bit younger.