As much as I enjoy squirming beneath my laptop, typing with my back hunched as I scuttle through semi-articulate streams of consciousness in order to deliver a "slice of crazy" for public ridicule, this time I decided to funnel my violent energies toward what may be a more uplifting bottomless pit of indulgence. Namely my new obsession: actor Aneurin Barnard, who plays Richard III in the Starz Miniseries The White Queen.
My husband, always the delicate flower, has been increasingly touchy on this subject. In fact, he effectively waged a pre-emptive strike against my dearest Richard yesterday morning. Beginning with a query that I had believed was innocent enough, I invoked the narrative style of the "Sad Cat / Sad Dog" Diaries in order to reach out to 'M' to validate him emotionally and spiritually. The text message battle proceeded as follows.
J -- Dear diary: Today it occurred to me that dearest husband has never sent me a picture of his manhood via text message. I shall have to bond with him in other ways.
M -- Dear diary: Today dearest wife asked me for a picture of my manhood via text message. It occurred to me that she is only asking for this picture so that she can compare it to a television character named Richard and his manhood. She has probably gained possession of this picture through the black market on the internet. More tests are needed.
J -- Dear diary: It has occurred to me that dearest husband is jealous of Richard-on-TV. Dearest husband should be rest-assured that dearest Richard-on-tv is much too far away for me to mount at this time. Dearest husband should be thankful to Richard-on-TV for at least half of my dry humps recently.
M -- Dear diary: I have been informed by wife that half of the hump stains left on my clothing can be attributed to Richard-on-TV. I guess I can also thank him for the stains that smell like soup. There is no logic in this place.
J -- Dear diary: It appears that husband has lost all touch with reality and now believes that the chicken stock I routinely prepare for his consumption as a holistic tonic is actually one of my bodily excretions. He must also believe that I have simply birthed his favorite cookies every other weekend. Hypothesis: His ability to effectively "live the dream" as our stay-at-home cat guardian has given him strange preoccupations including but not limited to: folding my laundry incorrectly. Luckily I am a generous and forgiving wife, thanks in part to husband's long and gorgeous princess hair, reminiscent of Richard-on-TV.
M -- Dear diary: Wife expects me to continue to do what she and she only wants me to do. Even as my lungs fill with fluid. I am falling down into a deep dark hole of which there is no escape. If I muster up enough energy wife says I may swiffer the floor today. I am bound to hell.
J -- Dear diary: It has become apparent that husband is clearly a drama queen and probably cultivates bronchitis only because jealousy of Richard-on-TV is destroying his immune system. If husband would only consume the magical chicken broth per protocol, things could improve. Plan B may require various declarations of appreciation for his contributions, as I am told that compliments boost immune response. I will thus upgrade his title from "Director of Kitten's Litter Box" to "CEO of Kitten's Litter Box." Wish him luck as he strives for excellence.
M -- Dear diary: Dearest wife is trying to show she has a brain. But her brain is easily corrupted; I will demonstrate now. Wife how are your clothes fitting today? Surely if they feel tighter it is only because of the way husband washed them and could not possibly be from excessive weight gain.
J -- Dear diary: Husband has escalated his resentment for Richard-on-TV by violating our marriage bed with what appears to be high fructose flavored lubricant for the purposes of copulating with a big mac. He continues to deny his dubious involvements yet I often see evidence peaking curiously out from underneath his Gryffindor sweater. Dearest husband, who is so sad and yet so noble in his quest to patronize fast food. He must be concealing what is probably filthy, filthy genitals. He hides them every day.
M -- Dear diary: I have decided to take up a new hobby. Taking a big huge pooh on wife's side of the bed. I feel this will bring some enjoyment in my weakened state. Our Duke Kitten of York has been forced to join sides in this war of the Roses and has chosen House of Daddy. He is a great friend, and he too has taken a pooh on Mommy's side of the bed. Yet by joining Daddy he is now second to the throne, and with each passing day I become weaker and weaker as litter and dander fill my lungs. The darkness is coming. Like Julius Caesar I am surrounded by enemies.
J -- Dear diary: Husband recently tried to make amends for his kitten-mongering, Richard-on-TV-hating ways by offering me what appeared to be a runny dark chocolate Toblerone laying on our bed sheets. After I graciously informed him that I am watching my figure, he immediately stripped our bed of all linens. Diary, perhaps he is finally taking his household duties seriously! Note to self: Methinks that husband remains untrustworthy notwithstanding. Confide only in password protected legitimate diary from now on. Remember to placate Kitten with Daddy's shoes until new chew toy has been purchased.
Later that night...
J -- Dear legitimate diary: It appears that husband has fallen asleep and left the computer open for my perusal. Seeing that husband has quieted his insanity, I must confess that I know not exactly why Richard-on-TV, fuzzy beast incarnate, is so viciously pettable to me. If he was a pygmy owl at the zoo I would probably kidnap him. And not feel too badly about it. Indeed, I am hopelessly mesmerized by his dark feathers, succulent beak, and abnormally large eye balls. Forgive me.
J -- Dear diary: Quick update -- Like Edward Scissorhands -- he beckons me to imagine the possibilities.
J -- Dear diary: I do hope that Richard-on-TV keeps his hair long before he is impaled by some kind of spear at the end of the show. Poignantly, before it's too late I must admit that Richard-on-TV sometimes looks eerily similar to that hairy-footed jewelry enthusiast Elijah Wood. Diary, I am afraid that this fact alone is enough to sabotage him in battle and erode his good name.
J -- Dear diary: I have received word from the underground that the authorities at Starz On Demand plan to kill Richard in an upcoming episode. I may beseech the authorities on dearest Richard's behalf but I am nevertheless convinced that they are either stupid, deaf or just cruel. I can only assume that they have left me here to die as well. This may be my last entry.
J -- Dear diary: I am certain that the authorities at Starz On Demand are mad men, devoid of reason. I will thus stand post at Richard-on-TV's twitter page, and sing the song of my people in hopes that he rescues me in a blaze of glory. Hypothesis: If he is heterosexual, logic dictates I will get a response. I now transfer my efforts to the public forum...
@aneurinBarnard it's my birthday
@aneurinBarnard my birthday is in two months
@aneurinBarnard Wish me a happy birthday.
@aneurinBarnard let's meet up. where are you
@aneurinBarnard Based on your silence I can only assume terrible things are happening.
@aneurinBarnard you'll have me at 'hello'
@aneurinBarnard have no fear. i will find you.
@aneurinBarnard do you like cookies?
@aneurinBarnard change your wallpaper. it's annoying me.
@aneurinBarnard Every time I look at it I have to remind myself that no, I am not looking at a young Demi Moore, but a stylized image of you in your boyhood. Stop it!
@aneurinBarnard I am truly sorry you cannot even FATHOM what you are missing out on.
@aneurinBarnard You are just as cruel as the authorities. Why bother?
@aneurinBarnard Just so you know, I am all that and a bag of chips.
@aneurinBarnard Your deliberate coyness is exciting. I'm game.
To be continued...