|A serious topic of conversation|
I posted a blog entry about Ikea and how I loved it; and how I loved my 'meese' pasta.
I was so proud of my Ikea meese pasta.
The whole experience was wondrous for me- realising that each pasta piece was of a moose; shrieking out 'Kev, they are little mooses!'; Kev correcting me and saying that they are called 'meese'; realising my mistake, and apologising to their cute little faces, and finally saying 'Look Kev, they are little meese! MEESE!'
I was so amused at the unusual find, that I held the bag in front of me, and just happily examined the pasta as Kev shuffled me towards the Ikea exit, ensuring I didn't trip over anything.
'It's meese pasta Kev!' I beamed.
'Yes, and you just can't wait to eat all the little meese,' he teased.
Anyways, change of scene.
So it is about 6.50pm, and both Kev and I are tired after a full day of work. As we waited on the train station platform, Kev shows me his phone. I see that he was reading my Ikea post.
'Aw! You read it!' I sang.
'Yea, meese?' He asked with a confusing smile on his face.
'Yea?! meese!' Still happily buzzing from learning that he read my post.
'You do know that I'm not sure that the plural is meese.' He said.
I dead stared him.
Kev then starts laughing. As he laughing at me on the platform, I stood confused.
'What to you mean they are not meese?' I asked him carefully.
The train pulls up, and as we walked to the doors and waited with the other passengers, Kev composedly said:
'I am not sure if the plural of moose is meese.' He gives my hand a squeeze, as if to soften the blow.
'No, but it is!'
I defiantly grabbed my iPhone and googled it up. I found a definition on urbandictionary.com and showed it to Kev. But I didn't feel triumphant. If anything, I felt like I had scrambled, only to scrape the bottom of the pool of resources available, resorting to the bottom of all reputable dictionaries to save any sort of dignity that I may have had left. I had just written a blog, all about these meese. All day, I thought I was clever.
I passed my iPhone to Kev to show him:
We entered the train and found a seat. Kev continued to laugh.
'Wait, so what you're telling me, is that there is NO meese?' I was slightly annoyed at this point. Kev tried to stifle his laugh.
'I made up the word. I thought you knew I made it up, but liked the word meese.'
'What? How would I know that it was made up? I initially said mooses!' I cried out.
Kev, relentlessly pissing his pants quietly said:
'Mooses isn't a word either.'
I looked away out of frustration, but I couldn't avoid feeling Kev chuckling next to me.
'So, you lied!' I curtly whispered.
'No, I said meese because I wasn't sure if it was right or wrong. I thought you liked the word meese.'
'I don't like the word meese! Why would I like the word meese?' I hissed.
'Because you looked so happy when I said meese.'
'I don't care if it is meese or mooses!' I seethed, 'I just liked the pasta!'
Kev lost it. He just couldn't speak. He was in his little bubble of nonsensical delight. Watching him, the hilarity of our absurd 10 minute conversation slowly started to win over my annoyance. I was then stuck with that feeling where I didn't want to laugh, but I could feel it rising up to my chest. I fought it, refusing to allow myself to smile. It was the principle of the situation. It was serious. So why did I feel like I was mocking myself the longer I resisted?
'Shut up.' I shortly whispered.
Kev laughed harder.
'You're a doouche! You know that! I just liked the pasta!' and with that, I reluctantly gave into the laughter. It annoyed me, but I couldn't help it.
This conversation when on for a further 15 minutes, until I eventually forgave Kev for leading me on. I really did believe they were called meese.
It was the most ridiculous, serious conversation ever. I can only dare to imagine what the other commuters, who may have been ears dropping, may have been thinking.
P.S Thanks Viv for the clarification. Moose or Meese? Answer is here at the oxford dictionary website.