Thursday: I ponder predictability
First, I love Ken. He’s awesome, and he puts up with my many foibles. He hardly ever gets mad, even when I killed his robot vacuum, or when I buried his slippers in the garden because he kept leaving them on the basement stairs (although THAT could be because I never told him about it. Surprise!). But let’s be honest—he has some “foibles” too. Mainly his predictability. Ken is very predictable. In fact, I can predict with absolute certainty that he just said, “I am NOT predictable”, because that is exactly what he will say when he reads that (and he just did, haha). But he is predictable, and I can prove it:
Exhibit A: A couple of weeks ago, we had the first ice storm of the season. I have a new, little, very cute and sporty car. I used to have a great big SUV with all-wheel drive. To my surprise (and it was a very nasty surprise), my new car, by virtue of the fact that it weighs about 10 pounds, is NOT good on ice or snow. I discovered this as I tried to leave the driveway. Things, and the car, slid quickly downhill from there. My immediate response (as some of you already know) was to go into panic mode and announce to K, “I’m trading this car in for an SUV. I can’t drive this all winter.” She agreed that it would be a good idea, but I cautioned her: “Your dad will never agree to it. I can tell you right now what he’ll say. ‘We’ll trade for the winter—I’ll drive your car, and you can have my SUV.’” Then I called Ken, because I wanted to complain about the roads (and I have Bluetooth so now I can call him whenever I want to complain about anything, which he secretly loves), and when I told him I wanted a different car, he said, ‘We’ll trade for the winter—I’ll drive your car, and you can have my SUV.’ (I just copied and pasted that from the first time I wrote it, because I didn’t even need to retype it—that’s how well I know him). To which I replied, “What the hell is the point of that? Then YOU can die in a car crash?! I knew you would say that. You’re so predictable!” And he said, “No, I’m NOT.” Which is exactly what I knew he would say.
Exhibit B: Whenever I ask him what he wants for dinner, he always says “homemade pizza”. I don’t know why I ask. I should just make the damn pizza and cut out the middleman.
Exhibit C: He’s even predictable in his unpredictability. When we’re driving, the one thing I can always count on is that he refuses to ever drive the same route twice in a row. So that would seem UN-predictable, but the fact that he ALWAYS does it makes it not count. We’ll be driving and suddenly I’ll realize I have no idea where we are. He’ll turn down a random road, and I’ll be like “Where the hell are we going? We’re backtracking. We’re driving AWAY from where we’re going.” And he’ll say, “It’s a shortcut.” NO, IT’S NOT, KEN. When you drive in the opposite direction from your destination, you aren’t taking a shortcut, you’re Christopher f*cking Columbus. Of course, he tries to explain things using fancy technical terms like North, South, East, or West, which he knows I don’t understand, because to me, you either go left or right. And then I’m like, “We’re not going North, Ken—we’re going ASSBACKWARDS.”
Anyway, I suppose predictability is a good thing. Like I know if I send him an email hint from Tiffany.ca, I can predict that he will buy something for me, and if I ask him to rub my back, he always will, without complaint. What more does a girl need?