First of all, they would send me somewhere very neat. The husband would expect a wife who was, how do you say? Duhmestick? Yeah, domestic, that's it. The other mother would be a neat freak who keeps her house spotless at all times, without fail. She would be terrified of the dust bunnies who currently nest in the inner sanctum I call home.
I currently do not bust my buns working out, other than walking my dogs, so they would definitely send me to a man who expects my body to be rockin' (not in a chair in front of Cracker Barrel either) and my diet to be pure. The poor receiving husband would likely be properly grossed out by my little muffin top and tell me all about it and how to get rid of it. He would make me do reps of this and that and run until I pass out, then expect me to make dinner. That brings me to the next point.
I don't cook, so they would probably pair me up with Betty Crocker's husband. Is he still alive? Was she ever married? Is Betty a real person? I don't know, but that's another post. Wanna know what I can cook? Here's what I can cook:
|Java mama, Cindy Brown|
Coffee. I can cook you a mean cup of coffee. That's what I can do. And something out of a box, like Hamburger Helper or spaghetti. And if you want something else for breakfast, then fine. I can open up a mean box of cereal for you as well.
I think they would also send me to the city where it is very noisy. I'm an insomniac, so that would be great [insert heavily sarcastic eye roll here]. I have this weird kind of insomnia where the sound switch in my brain doesn't shut off when I sleep like it does for normal people. It's some kind of sensory thing. Also, unless I'm really dead to the world, the slightest movement wakes me up. I woke up the other night because a tick was crawling on me. Really. It's that bad. Ticks weigh as much as air. How did I feel that?
They would send me to people opposed to both pets and nature, someplace drab and sterile, without artistic flair, where I would have a brick wall for a view. It would be really cold there, which I would despise.
There would be no Internet access (they'd be against it and all forms of technology). There would be no phone, no lights, no motor cars, not a single luxury. Sorry, I got carried away and slipped into the Gilligan's Island theme song there for a minute.
This family I'd be placed with wouldn't fart or burp in front of each other and would be properly disgusted if I did. And who knows about me, I just might do that kind of thing. I believe stifling it will cause great pain (wouldn't want to find out what might happen if I didn't), but on the opposite side of that, I stifle each and every sneeze. I'm an enigma. Never know what I'm gonna do.
Oh, and the worst part about this family would probably be that they'd have no sense of humor at all. They'd be gulp -- quiet people. Nothing would make them laugh. It would be like pulling teeth. I'd hear crickets in response to each opening of my mouth. It would be like playing a game of Operation after taking out the Funny Bone. Not a good time, nooo... not good at all. I'm always very uncomfortable around people with no sense of humor. I think there's something wrong with them, genetically speaking. And if you're one of them, what are you doing on this blog right now? Furthermore, do not send me hateful e-mails about my bashing of the humor impaired. It won't be tolerated and I'll punish you by forcing you to watch Blazing Saddles on a repeated loop until you break down and cry like a baby.
In the end, the wives each get to spend fifty grand on the other family for something that would truly help them improve their family unit. I would buy them $50,000 worth of comedy DVDs and I'd come home to find my kids and husband working out in our new $50,000 gym and expecting me to cook something healthy for them afterward in the $50,000 kitchen.
Well, that decides it. I think I'll just stay home instead.