I’m German

My wife is German. This is a fact. It says so on her birth certificate. I told her that Trump doesn’t like immigrants and if she misbehaves I’ll ask him to deport her. She’s heard this so often she doesn’t even look up from Facebook anymore when I say it. When pressed she reminds me she was born on an American airbase and thus a naturalized citizen. I tell her that I’m really good with Photoshop and can make it look like she snuck in through Canada last week, so don’t burn the corn next time (I’m just kidding about this, we boil our corn, it can’t burn).

She was born in Frankfurt, Germany to a German woman, a woman who speaks German and is mean. When I say mean (my mother-in-law, not my wife), I’m talking about a woman who would burn babies alive and drink the blood of innocents if she could be bothered to get off the couch and hunt down either one. But this isn’t about her. But stay tuned, she’ll be the feature character in following stories and they’re going to rip your head off with how fucking brutal this old sack of crazy is. On to my wife, who shares 1/2 her DNA with this woman, another fact, and it keeps me up at nights, wondering…

So let me tell you something about my wife. She considers herself a strong German woman. She can lift a 55lb sack of dog food like it’s, well, a 55lb sack of dog food. Not over her shoulder like she means it, but in front of her looking like the hernia is about to burst. She’ll let you know about it too. “<Sigh>, I guess the German woman has to do all the heavy lifting around here.”

And I reply, “Damn right, you’re always spouting off about how strong you are so prove it with actual work.” In my head.

It’s total bullshit as you’re beginning to suspect. She likes to come off as this superior genotype whose DNA has destined her to fits of unbelievable strength, but ask her to hold a 2×4 up off the ground while you drill a screw into it and she acts like all dainty and put out as if you just asked her to hold up the back side of the Eiffel tower with her left breast (I think it would be funnier if I said “tit”, but my female readers get really indignant over that word, calling it objectifying, and they call me a “dick” for writing it. I tell them that they need to start referring to me as a penis then, otherwise they are being hypocrites). But I’ll be sensitive here and say breast even though it’s not as funny. I once told my wife that someone said I was a misogynist for something I wrote in school. She replied that they were dead wrong, that I wasn’t a misogynist, I was an asshole. I put that in past tense but she would probably repeat it in the present tense.

You might be thinking at this point that me and my wife have a tumultuous relationship. We do, but in a fun way. Just the other day I put a pig snout in her purse. No, not a plastic one, what fun would that be? A real one. Don’t look at me like that, I put it in a baggy first. I love my wife and she claims she loves me. We get along great. But make no mistake, she’s not entirely sane. Her family is worse. My family is just as bad and I wouldn’t have it any other way, because I have years worth of material to write about: like the time my sister adopted a squirrel that turned out to be a skunk. Or when one of my brothers tried to pick up two college girls at a museum, further proving what a lecherous old man he is. Or when this same brother yelled at a gorilla at the zoo (I know, fucked up, right?). Or when my mom (now deceased) once stabbed someone for calling her a slut. See? Lotsa juicy stuff. Stay tuned.