Out on the porch, shivering in the mid-October night, talking about Joseph Wambaugh.
It peters out, and we just stand there shivering and smoking.
After a moment…
Nitram (dramatic basso profundo, extended): bbbRRRRuuUUUUrrrrrrrrrrpp
Me (not missing a beat, soubrette soprano): brrrrrrraaaaaaaaatp
Both of us immediately bend over laughing and snorting.
Me: How was that?
(I have been trying for about 15 years to get burp approval from him, but he keeps telling me I sound like a velociraptor.)
Nitram (still laughing helplessly): That was your best one yet!
Me: No shit!
Nitram (goes into the kitchen, almost shuts the door, opens it again, grinning, shaking his head): Hahaaaaaaaaaaaa!! Heh!
(I suddenly realize he means my best velociraptor burp yet, not my best overall burp. Dammit!)
Me (pointing to the makeshift kitchen island, a white enameled former Hoosier countertop nailed to the top of a manky old cabinet): Better hide behind that, I’m coming after you!
Me (velociraptor imitation): graaah! eyaaaak!!
Nitram: Oh! Haaaaaaaa! *runs away*
The things we do for spousal approval.