Washoe
New Member
I’m trying to wash last night’s dishes, and my wife comes flapping into the kitchen screaming “she’s got her blue spots and she’s cozying up to the male”. “That’s nice”, I mumble. Thirty seconds later I hear “dammit, the batteries are dead on my camcorder”, followed by more flustered flapping and flying around. “How do you take video with the digicam, godammit—I’ve never done it before”
“Well, you see, first you hit the ‘best shot’ button and move the cursor to ‘movie’, and then you…”
“HURRY UP! SHE’S ALMOST ON TOP OF HIM!”
“Well, that’s good, but it’s really the other way around…”
“JUST GIVE ME THE DAMN CAMERA! WHAT BUTTON DO I PUSH?!?”
I barely have time to mutter “this one” before she snatches the camera out of my hands and I feel a strong breeze created by the air displaced as she sails out of the room.
“Great—I’m married to an amateur herpetological pornographer” I mutter, as I go back to washing the dishes…
“Well, you see, first you hit the ‘best shot’ button and move the cursor to ‘movie’, and then you…”
“HURRY UP! SHE’S ALMOST ON TOP OF HIM!”
“Well, that’s good, but it’s really the other way around…”
“JUST GIVE ME THE DAMN CAMERA! WHAT BUTTON DO I PUSH?!?”
I barely have time to mutter “this one” before she snatches the camera out of my hands and I feel a strong breeze created by the air displaced as she sails out of the room.
“Great—I’m married to an amateur herpetological pornographer” I mutter, as I go back to washing the dishes…