Last night, Husband and I are in bed, and he says, “OH!” suddenly. Like whatever he’s about to say has been something he’s been waiting to tell me all day. And then he busts out with this:
Husband: I’m going to invent a new instrument.
Husband: It’ll be called the “clarionette.”
Husband: It’ll be like a clarinet, but you play it remotely. With strings.
I stare at him, uncomprehending for a moment, until he lifted his fingers and dangled them just so.
Husband: Hey! It’s better than my invention of the hoboe.
Me: That’s not an instrum–
Husband: Yes it is. It’s an oboe played by homeless people.
This is why I married him, y’all. Though, honestly, I can think of better inventions. Like the cloning device I requested ages ago so that I could have my very own Gerard Butler and Olivia Munn. Or maybe the teleportation device so that I don’t have to endure traffic and I can see all my out-of-town friends and family.
And yet, no. I get a clarionette instead. Sigh.