Thanksgiving is Pat’s favorite time of the year. I think first, he’s a great cook, and likes to show off. And he likes to eat…and he LOVES pumpkin pie. About ten years ago, he just kept going on and on about how he couldn’t wait to make his pumpkin pies. I really didn’t give a shit, because I detest pumpkin pie.

Pat does NOTHING from a can or a mix. Everything is from scratch. So, he made several pumpkin pies one Saturday, taking hours to do whatever one does to make one from scratch, like an Amish weirdo.

He finished the pies, and kept talking about the damned pies like he found a cure for cancer while making them, and these pies were going to save mankind. He put them on the top of the stove to cool, while we went to run a quick errand.

We started off, and Pat forgot something and had to run home quickly. I sat in the car, waiting for him to grab whatever and come back out. He came running out to the car, yelling like a maniac, with his face bright red and veins popping out of his forehead.

“YOU WILL NEVER GUESS WHAT THAT FUCKING WHORE DID THIS TIME!!!!” he yelled.

Oh my God…the only thing that went thru my mind is “What did his ex do this time?!?!?!”–assuming said “fucking whore” was his ex. Before anyone gets bent out of shape about that…yes, we talked like that, no, not in front of Andy, and yes, she was a fucking whore and I stand by that. Hell, after all the crap she did, honestly, it evolved from “whore” to “cunt”…and I stand by that. You can think that’s horrible. I can write a dissertation why it’s legit and an earned title, but I digress.

“WHAT?????”, I yelled back.

“SHE ATE ALL MY FUCKING PUMPKIN PIES! Right off the back of the stove when they were cooling! She even turned the pie tins inside out to get every last fucking crumb! THAT FUCKING WHOOOOOOOOOOOOORE!!!”

Um, I knew that said ex was not in our house, gorging on three pumpkin pies.

At this point, I started laughing hysterically. That “fucking whore” was my prima donna princess dog, Ava.

For the record, Pat got ingredients for three more pies, RE-MADE THEM that night…insisted on putting them on the back of the stove AGAIN…I told him not to…he said it’s his God-damned house and the dog needs to realize that.

Um, Pat, it’s AVA. Ava doesn’t give a shit. Ava gave less shits than a honey badger gave….

It goes without saying that Pat came home from church the next day to ZERO FUCKING PIES.

Okay, this happened last week at our house, and I debated blogging about it. Well, actually, I wanted to blog about it right away, but Pat told me I better not. He said I would offend people, and named a couple friends in specific. First, when do I *NOT* offend people?

I then recounted the story to Andy this week–he thought it was hilarious in typical Foy Shit-Show fashion. After some discussion, we decided it was okay to post.

So, many of you may not know that one of my jobs is that of an artist. It’s something I always wanted to do, but this thing called “making a living” didn’t jive with the typical “starving artist” reality. In fact, Pat often reminds me that over 15 years ago, I said to him that if I was fortunate enough to be married to a guy who made enough money that I could stay home and create art all day, I’d greet said husband at the door with a blowjob and a home-cooked meal every night. His bad for not getting that in writing, and notarized.

Fast forward to October 2014. I was working for a totally crappy, crooked company and miserable. Pat told me to quit and do art full-time. I jumped at the chance.

A year later, I am still fortunate enough to be able to do my artwork, and pay my bills from said art.

Recently, I had a request from a local gallery owner to create a series of iconic Madison paintings for her gallery. I proudly worked on them for two weeks, and one night, Pat came over and asked what I was painting. I showed him my series of Madison buildings that I had in progress.

Pat made his usual “huh…” comment, the one he makes any time he looks at my art (he never gives feedback, just says “huh”.)

About five minutes later, he came back into my “studio” (Glorified art corner in the big living room–I love the natural light there and took it over. I’d take over the whole room if I could, but Pat’s made it clear I am pushing the envelope with just the corner).

“Hey, I found some watercolor paintings that this guy does of buildings that might be interesting to you. You should check them out,” Pat said, as he handed me his phone.

I looked and saw this:

“Wow, those are actually really good,” I said. I frankly was shocked Pat googled any art, but thought maybe he was taking my “good marriage advice” and expressing interest in something I was doing.

I looked at a couple of the images in more detail, and then asked who the artist was.

OMFG. Yep, THE Adolph Hitler. Pat laughed and told me he once saw some feature on Hitler and his paintings on the History Channel and my paintings reminded him of it. I yelled at him to shut up, but then started laughing about it myself. Who knew Hitler was actually a watercolor artist–and really didn’t suck? And for the record, *I* think my paintings are BETTER than Hitlers.

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DISCLAIMER–I am NOT a fan of HITLER, nor do I endorse his paintings.

Just have to make that abundantly clear.