Wil Wheaton is always posting conversations he’s had with his wife, so why shouldn’t I?
“You want kiwi?” I asked.
“There is cold?” Mel replied. She doesn’t like fruit that hasn’t been refrigerated, which I take into account unless I happen to forget about it.
“Yes! There’s alway cold kiwi. It’s like a disease. They just jump in the fridge these days. I was walking through the fridge this afternoon—”
“You were walking through the fridge eh?”
“BY!!! By the fridge! And this kiwi suddenly jumped up against me, and I was like,
‘dude wtf are you doing.’ The kiwi was really rude. It said:
‘fuck off, you ass, you’re blocking the road to the fridge.’ So I said
‘chill, kiwi.’ It replied,
‘yeah, that’s what I want to do, Einstein, but you’re keeping me from it.’ I wasn’t going to put up with that, so I said,
‘first apologize for your rudeness or I’ll just let you rot.’ Then it just kind of rolled over like it were one big, giant eye, shrugged — honestly, it did that! — and said,
‘sorry that I bumped into you but I really need to get into the fridge now.’ I opened up the fridge and said
‘alright, but no more shenanigans or I’ll drag you out of there if it’s the last thing I do.’ It jumped right in and let out a big sigh: ‘aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaahhh.’ Then it pulled the fridge closed while muttering something about privacy. So yeah, that’s how kiwis are these days. No respect.”
She didn’t reply verbally, but she pulled… the face.