Years ago, Jerry got the idea in his head that he is much funnier than I am. So much funnier that he is always rambling on about my horrible sense of humor, which incidentally seems to happen right after he tells me a lame-ass joke that doesn't DESERVE a laugh, much less to be acknowledged with any sort of effort on my part. Like an eye roll. Or instructing my feet to carry me in the opposite direction.
But yesterday he got me.
Somehow we got on the topic of Fruity Pebbles. I'm pretty sure it came up after an intense intellectual conversation about the different flavors of Mountain Dew.
He insisted Fruity Pebbles are awesome and went on to detail the greatness of the milk when it changes color, you know, from all of its organic ingredients found in nature. Like Yellow No. 5. The mere thought of putting a spoonful of that crap in my mouth makes my tastebuds want to recoil in horror. Then my gag reflex kicks in and I start dry heaving.
I'd like to take a minute to point out that in the five years we've been together, I have seen Jerry eat a bowl of Fruity Pebbles fewer times than I have seen him get all of his hair cut off. That's right, NEVER.
But there he was, professing his love for it.
And even though we've never had it in the house, I felt the need to get my point across that I feel very strongly about Allison not being allowed to eat a bowl of sugar every morning.
"I didn't have sugary cereals growing up, and to this day I don't miss them," I said.
"Well I had fun cereals growing up, and to this day I'm MUCH MORE FUN THAN YOU," he said.
If I had been eating Fruity Pebbles, they would've shot out of my nose like a colorful burst of fireworks.
Tally one in the Jerry column.