Last night, after having been to our favorite local bar (The Annex), Nick and I came home and (rather responsibly, I feel) drank some water to combat the effects of demon drink. Somehow I convinced him to watch 2 episodes of Sex and the City—a feat unheard of in our relationship–and he cracked up a few times and thought the writing was dead funny (“parts of it”), so I feel oddly vindicated. By now it was nearing 1:00am and I had to be at work at 8:30 this morning… I was trying to call it quits, in the responsible and mature manner to which I have become accustomed, but my beloved was playing Hit the Gong.
We have a gong hanging in the space between kitchen and living room. It is this gong. Nick received it as a gift last Christmas from our friend Emily (thank you!). He was throwing a pen at the darn thing from the living room, missing, and nearly hitting me in the kitchen (not a body part, a geographical area of the apartment). He did this 8 times or so (and missing) while I was getting some water. I, on my way into the bedroom and as an afterthought (snorts of derision from the crowd) tossed the pen at the gong. And hit it.
(Again that odd feeling of vindication.)
This is exciting only because I rarely outdo my beloved at anything involving hand-eye coordination. I mean, I’m not bad–he’s just brilliant. All that Nintendo. (He did hit the gong on his next 5 tries, to be fair.)
But I did it first!