So after spending roughly 40 minutes admiring Oahu traffic, I got home yesterday and did not make dinner. I planned to celebrate our 10 years as well as we could on a Wednesday night. I initially suggested Pearl City Zippy’s for the nostalgia’s sake rather than the food, an idea that Lynnette nixed with a contortion of her mouth and an incomprehensible sound. “We still have part of that gift card for Genki,” I said. “What about Kunio?” she countered. “Lady’s choice,” I said.
“Did the Mets win today?” Madison asked on our way to Waikele. “No, but they won yesterday,” I said. She made one of those incomprehensible noises that her mother has made famous. “Why do the Mets always lose?” she asked. Before I could offer an explanation, she continued, “They lost Sunday, Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, and Friday. And Saturday.” Of course, this filled Lynnette with glee. Since I was apoplectic at the wheel, Lynnette chimed in, “The Mets aren’t every good. They lose a lot.”
“What?” Lynnette said, seeing the invisible steam rising from my head. “I hate her for saying that, but it’s true, and I hate the Mets and myself even more. Lynnette did that witch cackle that she breaks out when she’s laughing nervously or searching for a wound to pour salt into.
Lynnette and I never really had the chance to have a deep conversation because Madison dominates most of the talk time during dinner. You see, while Madison can take 332 bites of candy or other snacks per minute, that rate dramatically drops to an 11 BPM when she consumes non-candy, non-snack food. Part of the reason is because she jabbers so much, but the more specific reason is that she hates non-candy, non-snack food. She has a crush on candy.
As she struggled with her miso soup, she was told in no uncertain terms that failure to eat all of her dinner would result in no dessert and having to watch Lynnette and I eat our dessert. She scowled briefly before returning to the ostensibly excruciating task of eating soup and rice.
When we exited Kunio, Madison said she wanted to go to Party City for her dessert. I told her she had to pick between Baskin Robins and Party City and she didn’t hesitate to continue towards the candy factory. She picked Bubble Tape – of all things – and Lynnette ripped her off a piece of gum that I thought was large. “That’s huge,” I said. “Is it too big, Mad?” I asked. “No,” she said, before having to fold the tape seven times in order to get all of it into her mouth. She looked like Abby gnawing on a Nylabone.
The sun set and we returned to our dwelling in Mililani. We washed up and Lynnette set out to put Madison to bed. After a few rounds of Injustice: Gods Among Us on the iPad, I walked into Mad’s room. “Hey,” I whispered. “What?” Lynnette did not whisper. She also did not look up from Candy Crush. “Come by later on,” I said. “Madison’s not sleeping yet,” Lynnette said at a volume which would assure even Madison had not been sleeping, she wasn’t now. “IT’S TEN YEARS!” I whisper-yelled. “Madison has to go to sleep and I’m sick!” Lynnette said. “We don’t have to do anything, I just like cruise witchu,” I said (I actually say it like that). There was an incomprehensible noise uttered from the area of Lynnette’s face illuminated by Candy Crush.
Sometime later Lynnette did make it to my room. She came stomping in, in a ratty t-shirt that pre-dates our relationship. She also clutched her phone, illuminated by Candy Crush. “What are you doing?” I asked as she flopped into bed. “I can’t beat this level,” she said. There was a time when Lynnette would have stormed into the room in an outfit that I would describe as somewhere in the sweet spot between “racy” and “borderline illegal.” She would have made noises that were comprehensible, then she would have figuratively – and possibly literally – poured some sugar on me. But last night we took turns playing Candy Crush, scratched each other’s backs (not a figure of speech), and talked briefly about us. Then Lynnette got up and said “K-den, Booleh” in a sarcastic tone, and wandered back to Mad’s room.
Romance is not dead. It just goes to bed early on a Wednesday night. You’ll see. Saturday. Or maybe Sunday. We’ve got time, love.