Proof: Women are Crazy

via thoughtsandramblings.com

Last weekend my wife (“Jackie”) and her cousin (“Darcy”) spent almost two hours together in my house getting ready for Darcy’s birthday party at a bar that night. Being the good sober husband that I am, I decided to stay home and watch our son (while he slept) that night. For some reason, though, I decided to join them as they put the finishing touches on their attire and makeup in my bedroom. The following is what transpired.

<Me, walking into the room and sitting on the bed while Jackie and Darcy stand next to each other in front of the mirror> “How’s everything going?”

<Darcy> “I am so disgusting. Seriously, I’m a cow. How great does Jackie look?”

<Me, looking at Jackie–who does look great> “She looks…”

<Jackie> “Oh My God, I’m so gross. Look at my legs. I need a tan so badly. This dress is too short. I’m changing into jeans.”

<Darcy> “What are you talking about?!? You look sooo good! If you change, I’m not going out. I look terrible.”

<Me> “I mean, I think you both look great…I wouldn’t worry…”

<Jackie> “Darcy, you look amazing, as usual. Adam, doesn’t she look great? I look so fat. I’m changing.”

<Me, trying to deflect> “So, where are you guys going tonight?”

<Jackie> “The Owl Shop. But first we need to get food. Not that I should be eating right now.”

<Darcy> “I seriously can’t eat more than a salad or they’ll have to grease the doors to get me in. Should I just cancel everything tonight? I feel so huge.”

<Me> “Don’t you guys have like twenty people coming…”

<Jackie> “Oh my God, you’re NOT canceling. You look amAzing! Adam, how good does she look? I look awful. Tell her, Adam!”

<Me> “Darcy, you really look…”

<Darcy, now curling her hair> “Shut up, I look horrible. My hair is awful–it won’t do anything I want it to do.”

<Jackie> “At least you have thick hair. My hair is so thin it just lays there and I hate the color of it anyway.”

<Me> “It isn’t thin, it’s fine…”

<Jackie> “I hate my hair.”

<Darcy> “Oh my God, I hate MY hair. I’m not going out.”

<Jackie> “I’m changing into jeans. I’m a mother now, I shouldn’t be going out like this. I look terrible. I need to lose like twenty pounds.”

<Darcy> “Are you crazy? Adam, how good does she look?”

<Me> “Jack, you look great…”

<Jackie, now pulling out three more dresses and a pair of pants> “Which will hide my stomach the best?”

<Darcy> “If you change, I’m NOT going out!”

<Me, now abandoning rationality and getting involved> “What does her wardrobe have to do with you going out tonight? Besides, it’s your birthday.”

<Jackie, already changing> “Do these pants look better?”

<Darcy> “My hair is awful. Jackie, STOP changing. I’m not going out.”

<Me> “Something smells funny. Are we cooking downstairs?”

<Darcy> “No, it’s my hair. I hate my hair.”

<Jackie> “Oh my God, I hate MY hair. These pants make me look worse.”

<Darcy> “I TOLD you! Put the dress back on.”

<Me, to myself> “This is insane…”

<Jackie> “I’m hungry.”

<Me, again to myself> “Fried hair, anyone?”

<Darcy> “I’m hungry too, but I can’t eat or this dress will pop off of me.”

<Jackie> “You look great! I can’t eat. This dress already looks bad enough on me. What shoes should I wear?”

<Me, quietly> “Jesus, I forgot about the shoes…”

<Darcy> “Those heels are sooo cute! Wear those!”

<Jackie> “I don’t know, they make my legs look fat.”

<Darcy> “I hate my hair. Those shoes look great. Your legs are so skinny. I hate my legs.”

<Jackie> “Oh my God, you’ve always had great legs! Adam, how great are her legs?”

<Me> “No chance.”

<Jackie, ignoring me> “I’m changing shoes. What about these? Or these?”

<Darcy> “I like the heels!”

<Jackie, now wearing a different shoe on each foot> “I can’t decide…”

<Me> “Go with what you have on now.”

<Darcy> “I’m hungry and I hate my hair.”

<Jackie> “Fine, I’ll wear the heels, but my legs still look fat. I guess I’m a lost cause.”

<Darcy> “You look so good! I look awful. I hate my birthday. I hope no one comes.”

<Me, muttering> “I hope for the world’s sake no one comes…”

<Jackie> “Adam, take a picture of Darcy. She looks so good.”

<Me> “I don’t have a cam…”

<Darcy> “Oh my God, if you take a picture of me right now I’m not going out. Take a picture of Jackie.”

<Jackie> “Don’t you dare. Or if you do, don’t put it on Facebook.”

<Me> “I don’t have a camera…”

<Darcy> “We should go soon, it’s getting late. (Looks in the mirror) God I look terrible.”

<Jackie, joining Darcy in front of the mirror> “I look terrible. You look great.”

<Me> “What the hell is wrong with you two?

<Both of them> “What do you mean?”

FIN.