Treatment

We were on vacation last week, at my parents' house in the Catskills, with lofty plans to drive to the Niagara Falls for a few days. I also managed to sneak in some time to fume over the fact that Husbandrinka has never read my blog. No doubt because he's seething with jealousy.
"You know what would be fun?" I asked him one night-"if we could make a TV show out of my blog."
Within a day, he had written a treatment for a proposed sitcom based on "Motherhood in NYC".
"How did you know how to do this?" I asked.
"I know stuff," he watched me read it.
"This Husband, the heart and soul of the family, as it says here, sure seems to be the focal point on the show."
"Well, it's just a rough sketch."
"And what is this "homosexual confidant" who drops in all the time, saying hilarious things? Is that John? He never "drops by"."
"He calls all the time, that's the same thing."
"It is not the same thing. John and I don't drop in on each other because we're both too drained to go anywhere. So the phone is perfect. Except for having to pick it up and dialing and shit."
"You can't have two characters just talking on the phone all the time."
"Well, not all the time, but having him drop in makes him sound like Mr. Bentley from The Jeffersons. And insane."
"That's what makes it FUNNY." He says "funny" in the way that you would if you were speaking to a child who has yet to acquire speech.
"Whatever."
As I'm pouting he uses a very unique to Husbandrinka method to try to cheer me up. He suggests that I bring my laptop on our car trip so that he can dictate some episode summaries to me. No, no need to run to your nearest opthamologist (unless it's time for your check up, of course, I can't really give medical advice. Although you should definitely have that mole looked at), Husbandrinka really did tell me that he was going to dictate an episode of a sitcom, based on Motherhood in NYC, which I write and which he has never read, to me. Because apparently the biggest appeal of the blog is that it is well typed.
"Oh, fuck you, already," I told him. "I can't believe you think you're going to cocktate to me."
"You can't use that kind of language on television," he says.
So any sitcom producers out there--if you hire Husbandrinka, you'll get a head writer and network censor all rolled into one, a real savings in this economy.

While we're driving to Niagara Falls, I spend the first three hours in steely silence. Finally, I can't take it anymore. Because the bad thing about giving Husbandrinka the silent treatment is that (a) he has no idea that I'm doing it and (b) he thoroughly enjoys the silence, which makes it more like an early birthday present than a punishment.
"Ok, let's brainstorm," I tell him as I power up the HP mini, which is feather light, (assuming that feathers weigh what the Vivienne Tam mini weighs).
"Well," he says. "Let's think of what funny things happened to our family--oh, how about the cat adoption?"
"The cat adoption isn't that funny, the near-adoption is funny," I tell him, referring to the near-miss of adopting a brain-damaged kitten.
"Right--so get this down: After badgering the Husband for a kitten, he agrees, reluctantly. Mother in law takes children to look at kittens-"
"MOTHER-IN-LAW?" I hyperventillate. "What mother-in-law? Your mother is "mother-in-law", my mother is "mama". Everyone knows that."
"Fine. Mother takes children to look at kittens."
"Mama."
"Mama. Porca Miseria"
"That's not very nice."
"Va fongul."
"Rude."
"Do you want to do the episode synopsis?"
"Yes, but you keep trying to wedge yourself as the main character."
"It should be that they go and adopt a brain damaged kitten and then there's all sorts of crazy stuff and when the family calls, despondent, they find out that the cat has brain damage. That's what makes it funny."
"That's not what happened, though." I briefly remind him that what made it funny was that the kids really wanted the kitten which the adoption coordintor would not let us have because of their policy of adopting out two kittens together only, but then, ironically, the adotion coordinator seemed to reconsider because with our good fortune, the ktiten that the kids selected was suffering from brain damage, which was the exact moment when I realized that we must do everything in our power to ensure that the brain damaged kitten was not coming home with us.
"That's too talky," he says. "A sitcom is a situation comedy. You need a situation." (ok, am I the only one who thought that sitcom was a comedy that you watched while sitting down? Because I wasn't going to mention that to Husbandrinka).

Seriously, he just wore me down emotionally. So I did the only thing that I could--I wrote a script based on his concept based on my post, which he hasn't read. Stay tuned.

Hey! How come you haven't entered the Thomas stage show ticket giveaway? Because you hate children? Because you hate fun? Stop being a hater! Seriously, folks, can you enter this giveaway, tweet it, blog about it, sky write it. Because I think Thomas may go rogue on my ass otherwise. Thanks! You're the best! love you! If you tweet, blog, etc, leave me a comment on the Thomas post and I'll double/triple enter you in the giveaway.