rootofnewt | fibro and monkeys

So, I'm standing on the kitchen, mixing ingredients for pancakes. I need the four cup measure with the pouring spout, but I have fibro, so I can't remember what it's called. My husband is standing at the sink.

me: "honey, can you hand me that..."

I stand and point at the cupboard over my husband's head.

I get frustrated. "That thing... we use to ... I need it. That thing we use to measure and pour things with."

He grins.

explodingcat, laughing: "The electric fireball thrower?"
I tickle him and promise to burn his pancakes as I head out to the living room to post this exchange to

fibromyalgia

I return to the kitchen.
"Honey, please. I need the four-cup measure (it's heavy and stored above my head).
boy: "OH! That's what you wanted. That's not the electric fireball thrower. That's the electric donkey bottom biter."

I stare at him, then turn to my pancake batter.

He proceeds to wash dishes and sing a woeful song about donkey bottom biters. Eventually, he throws in some rai styled vocals. He comes over to take the now dirty mixing bowl from me. "Are you done with this."

"Yeah, but I need this." I hold up the whisk.

He looks at the whisk. "You can keep that."

I laugh.

He's now washing dishes and singing "You can keep the whiiiiiisk."