Pillow Talk.

My Husband doesn't believe I need a service monkey.

Last night after turning off the lights and wrapping myself burrito style in my comforter, I started thinking about how relaxed I get when Lillie plays with my hair... kind of like a monkey would "groom" it's companions. So I broached the subject about how beneficial it would be to everyone in the home for me to have a "service monkey" to help with my anxiety. He sighed and the conversation went a little something like this:

Billy, "I'm not even going to get into the reasons you DON'T need a service monkey."
Me, "You don't love me."
Billy, "I love you, and that's WHY you don't need a service monkey."
Me, "You really must not have read up on all the benefits of having a service monkey around."
Billy, "It's not like there's a "servicemonkey.com, and anyways, we are NOT having a conversation about you, a monkey, and this family. Conversation over."
Me, "You just don't understand how this anxiety thing works. You know how I immediately relax when Lillie does my hair? He could "groom" me and we would be best of friends. HE WOULD GET ME."
Billy, "You probably don't even qualify for a service monkey. I'm going to sleep."

***5 minutes later***

Me, "What about a service alpaca? They're really fluffy and we could name one Tina like in Napolean Dynamite."
Billy, "That's not even original, and where would it sleep?"
Me, "In our bed, like a giant hairy pillow."
Billy, "WHAT? WHAT DID YOU JUST SAY?"
Me, "They make sweaters out of alpaca fur, it would bring in income AND comfort."
Billy, "There is no fucking ROOM for an alpaca in our bed, and I don't even let that CAT sleep in bed with us."
Me, "That's because you are selectively homophobic against my cat. I don't know if I can be married to a man who's homophobic only against cats."
Billy, "He doesn't even do anything to benefit the family. He doesn't kill anything and all he does is scream until you follow him to the bathroom so you can watch him pee like he's a damn exhibitionist. At least Moose (our dog) serves a purpose, he's a great guard dog."
Me, "It's like you don't even know me. Ollie is beneficial to my all around well being. And he LOVES YOU. He likes it when you chase him and beat him."
Billy, "Love taps. On the butt. I don't beat animals."
Me, "You know who would understand me and my anxieties? A service monkey."
Billy, "Conversation. OVER. Goodnight."
Me, "My monkey would get me. I would name him Mr. Wiggles."
Billy, "GO TO SLEEP."
Me, "If I suffered from seizures, I bet you would deny me a "seizure monkey" too."
Billy, "There's no such thing, and you're right, I would."
Me, "Just so you know, this is going in the blog so everyone can see how unfair you are."
Billy, "Sure."
Me, "Just you wait, buddy, just. you. WAIT."

And that's the logic behind why I can't have a service monkey. I think he really just doesn't understand how this whole "service animal" and anxiety. How is it possible we've been married 6 years and he still doesn't believe I need a monkey in my life?