Chapter Seven - The Stupid Shit That Made Us Laugh

CHAPTER SEVEN

The Stupid Shit That Made Us Laugh

NO ONE TELLS you that the real glue in a relationship is the weird shit.
Not the sex.
Not the big talks.
Not the shared Google Calendar.

It’s the moments that make you laugh so hard you forget what year it is.

And we had a lot of those.

There was the time I tried to impress her by cooking, burned the chicken, and accidentally set off the fire alarm, shirtless, holding a spatula like a weapon, coughing through the smoke while she sat on the counter howling with laughter, recording the whole thing.

She called it “Hell’s Kitchen: JJ Edition.”
She still plays that video when she wants to humble me.

Or the time she walked in wearing a green face mask and I, dead serious, said, “Babe, I don’t mean to alarm you, but Shrek’s skincare routine is working.”

She didn’t even blink.
Just stared me down and said, “Donkey’s sleeping on the couch tonight.”

One night we got wine-drunk and made up theme songs for inanimate objects around the apartment.
Her favorite was the one for the dishwasher:

“He spins, he sprays, he rinses your pain away, he’s Dishboy, the unsung hero of your life!”

We cried laughing for 20 minutes.
I swear we nearly peed ourselves on the kitchen floor.

We had a thing with weird voice impressions.
I don’t know why, but she did a disturbingly accurate impression of a sad goat.
Any time I got moody, she’d go full farm animal, eyes wide, voice trembling, “Baaaaabe, why are you like this?”

And I’d be crying-laughing within seconds, no matter what I was mad about.

We played “What If?” constantly.

“What if you were cursed to sneeze every time I said your name?”
“What if our future kid turns out to be cooler than both of us and we just have to deal with it?”
“What if we’re secretly just Sims in a sandbox save and our creator has the personality of a stoned golden retriever?”

That one sent us.
We started blaming everything inconvenient on “God the Golden Retriever.”

Left keys in the fridge? “Golden Retriever God was chasing a squirrel.”
Got rained on at the park? “He forgot weather was a thing again.”

We turned chaos into inside jokes.
And the world got easier to live in.

That’s the stuff I miss most when she’s not around.
Not her perfume. Not her pretty.

Just her stupid, perfect sense of humor.
The way she made life feel like one big improv skit we were getting away with.

And the fact that we never, ever stopped laughing.

Even when we were tired.
Even when we were annoyed.
Even when life was heavy.

She’d make a fart noise with her arm or dance like a cartoon and I’d remember, Oh yeah. This is what forever actually looks like.