Pouring rain, five kids instead of two, tight schedule, I pull into the driveway to note that my car sounds funny. Flappy. And kinda hissy. That can’t be good times. Since I am happily useless with mechanicals (and fully intend to remain so) I promptly call the man of the house and slip on my I’m-Only-A-Do-It-Yourselfer-When-It-Suits-Me mask.

Me: Grrrrr flat tire!

Viking: So?

Me: So, hold onto your hat, because I have some great news for you. I’m generously and selflessly offering you the rare opportunity to be manly and stuff. Like, whoa, right?

Viking: Uh huh.

Me: This would be the part where you gallop on over. Rescue me, Galahad!

Viking: Are you high?

Me: *sings*  “Bravely bold Sir Robin, rode out from Camelot! He was not afraid to die, O brave Sir Robin! He was not at all afraid to be killed in nasty ways. Brave, brave, brave, brave Sir Robin.”

Viking: *long-suffering sigh* Did you put on the spare tire?

Me: I have a spare tire? WHERE?

Viking: In the secret compartment under the trunk.

Me: I have a secret compartment under the trunk? HOLY BALLS, WHY DIDN’T YOU TELL ME?!

Viking: Because you’d take the fucking spare out and hide nasty shit in there.

Me: Why would you think that?

Viking: I’ve met you, Allison.

Me: Don’t be ridiculous. I SO TOTALLY would not hide–wait, what kind of shit?

Viking (to himself): Then I’d get caught at the border, trying to explain how a bloody hatchet got in my trunk.

Me: How big is the compartment? Like,  a whole corpse, or only half…?

Viking: Way to prove me wrong, weirdo.

Me: Look, doing this manly shit for the mother of your offspring gives your bleak life reason and purpose. It’s refreshing for your soul. I’m doing you a HUGE favor.

Viking: That so?

Me: Yes. The polite thing to do would be to thank me with gifts that demonstrate the depth of your appreciation. Flowers would be appropriate here, though I must admit I prefer peanut brittle. Or porn. Peanut brittle and porn.

Viking: *narrows eyes at me* Remind me, why do I keep you around?

Me: My sparkling personality.

Viking: No, that can’t be right.

Me: Soooooo, how long ’til you get here? *empty air* …. Hello? …. Galahad?