RootsRain

Emily and I have always had a hard time falling asleep. Okay, actually, it’s just me. I keep her up by my incessant talking. I can’t help it. When the lights go out, my mind thinks I’m in the home stretch and gives it everything it’s got.

Of course, since we’re both tired, our conversations often turn bizarre. For instance, there’s the evening we spent happily insulting each other with fruit:

Jeff: You’re like a pineapple. There’s something sweet inside, but you have to hack it out with a machete.

Emily: Well, you’re like a cluster of grapes. You’re okay as you are, but you’d be better squeezed and sealed in a cask for 100 years.

Jeff: Ha! Well, you’re like an orange. Once you peel away the hard outer layer, there’s a lot of flakiness underneath.

Emily: Oooo… well, you’ve got layers, too, buster. A lot of them. Like an onion. And they all stink.

Of course, Emily’s the queen of half-asleep, back-handed compliments. On one occasion, she’d had a really bad day and hadn’t been terribly nice to me:

Emily: I don’t get it, Jeff. Why don’t you just kill yourself? Why don’t you just crawl under the bed and die?

Jeff: …ummm…

Yet another backhanded gem after several days of frustration with life:

Emily: I know why I’m always depressed. It’s because I’m a genius. Smart people are always more depressed than stupid people…

…but it’s nice that you’re always so happy.

Jeff: …ummm…

And then there’s the totally loopy tradeoffs that make me think we could be brilliant if only we would act more stupid…

Jeff: I was digging a trenchcoat…

Emily: but it made me sweater…

Jeff: so I sat on a bench in the parka…

Emily: but I started to pants…

Jeff: so I hopped in my cardigan…

Emily: but a cop said pull overalls…

Jeff: so I drove slow as a turtleneck…

Emily: At home I popped the hoodie…

Jeff: but the gears were full of sandals…

Emily: so I kicked the tire and stubbed my toga.