My Bowels are Irritable so I Torture Jim

This morning, I sat the couch in pain, waiting to see if the worst of it had passed. Jim waited with me for a while, and I asked him to sing Paul Revere to me (the Beastie Boys are like magical medicine for IBS attacks…what? you didn’t know?). Jim said he didn’t know the words, so I helped him out with exaggerated arm motions:

Tree: Well, I had a little horsey named…(I just looked at him like he was an idiot to help him)
Jim: um…Paul Revere?
Tree: Just me and my horsey and a quart of…(I mimed drinking)
Jim: uh…brew?
Tree: BEER! BREW DOESN’T RHYME WITH REVERE! (I get a little bitchy when I’m in pain. What can I say?)
Jim: Beer, then.
Tree: Ugh. Ridin’ ‘cross the…(I couldn’t think of anything to mime for “land” so I did the “you’re an idiot if you don’t know this” face again)
Jim: I DON’T KNOW THE WORDS!
Tree: Okay you know this part! One lonely beastie I be! All by myself without nobody! The sun is beatin’ down on my…(I point to my head)
Jim: BASEBALL HAT!
Tree: Yeah! The air is gettin’…(I fan myself)
Jim: Uuuuuhhhhh
Tree: HOT! The beer is gettin’…(I make flattening motions)
Jim: Mmmmmm…?
Tree: FLAT! Lookin’ for a…(I point to myself)
Jim:…ho?
Tree: Ho? I point to myself and you say HO?
Jim: Well…I dunno…
Tree: It’s GIRL! Lookin’ for a GIRL, ran into a…(I point to him)
Jim: GUY!
Tree: Oh NOW you know the words.