Even though every syllable from The Kid these days involves an inquiry (sometimes almost a cross-examination), the one question he asks more often than any other, involves the marital status of myself and the Permanent Roommate.
“Are you married?” he asks, his blue-stained mouth agape, salivating over the answer. Seriously, his mouth is constantly a blueberry color variation, though I never remember him ingesting any food to create such a tint.
This question always bats lead-off, followed by a line-up of other inquiries involving family and bloodlines. “Who is daddy’s daddy? Is Grammie mommy’s Mommy?”
We reply the same each time, stating nothing but the facts, yet he’s never satisfied with the response.
In an effort to dig deeper to the truth, The Kid has possibly enlisted an army of truth finders, who’ll send weekly questions via email, Facebook message or Tumblr page curious to the relationship between myself and the mother of my kids.
“Why do you call her Permanent Roommate?” always the most popular question.
A Googling (is that an actual term? It sounds like a medical term involving growths on the throat) of my name shows that the second most popular search option is “Chris Illuminati wife.”
I’m taking all these questions, emails and inquiries – even from my own flesh and blood — as an indication that people are genuinely interested in my relationship with the Permanent Roommate. In an effort to clear the air, squash rumors, dispel myths and finally give PR her moment in the spotlight (even though she didn’t ask for it) I’m putting the entire story in print (internet print). The whole story of the Permanent Roommate will become public record. Also, I’m tired of answering the same god damn questions about it all the time. The Kid better start reading soon so I can just hand him a couple papers to read and go back to my day.
This is the tale of the Permanent Roommate.
This is part two of the story. If you didn’t read part one yet, you might want to read this first.
Chuckles. It was a package of Chuckles. The candy for grandmoms.
The vending machine stocked with countless snacking option, every single item more delicious than Chuckles, yet the sugar sprinkled jelly candies won my attention and dollar. I mentally bullied myself for, once again, choosing the candy favored by nine out of ten nursing home patients while weaving through a herd of people leaving work. I still had another hour, possibly more, with nothing to ease the pain except a pack of Chuckles (lemon always last) and a few…
The combination of Kool-Aid and pickles, cleverly named Koolickles, is quite possibly the creation of the world’s most ingenious stoner or a convenience store clerk with much too much time on his hands. I probably just described the exact same person, but either way, there is no denying that Koolickles are becoming a snacking phenomenon.
But do Koolickles live up to the hype?
[PHONE RINGS WHILE BABY IS SLEEPING]
Me: (whisper) “Hello.”
Person on phone: “It’s ______. Why are you whispering?”
Me: (whisper) “The baby is sleeping.”
Person on phone: “Oh….(person continues conversation in a barely audible whisper, as if the child has sonic hearing.)
This is the conclusion of the way too drawn out tale of how I met the Permanent Roommate. If you’re new to the website, I suggest going back a few posts before reading this entry.
Now on to the show.
She picked out the engagement ring. I’m not an idiot.