I’ve got Pacho Bell’s “Canon in D” stuck in my head, which is frustrating because that is a lot of instruments and a lot of parts for one person to hum.
How I know my husband loves me … sort of
Because I have a bunch of work to finish up tonight, Mike, my wonderful husband, is making me dinner.
We’re having Mac ‘N Cheese ‘N Peas, one of my favorite dishes (seriously, no sarcasm).
“How many peas do you want?” he asked.
“Ummm, 167,” I said in true smart-alec form.
“OK,” he replied and began counting.
That’s how much he loves me.
But then he got bored and said, “If you want me to count your peas, you’re not going to get very many peas.”
Understandable.
And I’m pretty sure he loves me a whole lot, just not 167 individual peas worth.
Related Posts:
Peas please
Our kitchen is small.
Small enough that when I pulled a bowl of peas out of the toaster oven and turned around to put them on my plate that I inadvertently ran the bowl into a wall, thus sending little green balls rolling across the kitchen floor.
Sigh.
Related Posts:
Learning to cook
I put a couple notches on the ol’ cooking belt tonight after making some superb chocolate chip cookies (plump, thick, chocolatey, awesome!) for a good friend and the homeless kids that she helps out.
I took a notch out of my belt when, upon putting the first batch into the oven, I found some wedding leftovers that were burnt to a crisp having (apparently) been in the oven for the past month. Even my scientific-minded husband hasn’t figured out how we didn’t see the dish any of the numerous times we used that appliance.
Related Posts:
Difference of opinion
It’s fairly well known to our community of friends that I’m frequently the one picking on Mike: Convincing him to eat wax fruit, dog food, soap, etc.
Despite this fact, I often joke that Mike is antagonizing me, that he’s the antagonist.
Yesterday, when I was poking Mike, I said, “I’ll get you my pretty,” and followed it with an evil laugh.
He goes, “See. I told you that you were the villain.”
Hmmm … touché.
Related Posts:
Three weeks into marriage
Thus far, marital bliss in our little two bedroom, one bathroom apartment has been downright blissful.
Except for the occasions on which my need to hop in the shower and Mike’s need to empty his small intestine coincide.