Travel & Lifestyle Freelance Writer | Market Research Consultant
My husband likes to tell me that “he’s all that’s man.”
He gives me reason to doubt, however, when I ask him why he hates using rinsed-out yogurt containers as Tupperware and he responds that it’s because he can’t see through the plastic and he’s afraid of opening it up and finding mold.
Mike is a pretty thrifty dude, but even he didn’t know how good a deal he was getting when he bought new fish at the pet store the other day. Turns out, it was buy one, get seven free.
From the photo you can tell that it was a great deal, but not a particularly big deal.
The other day, Mike asked me to fix the holes in his jeans.
I told him that despite my recent crafty endeavors (I made a wreath, a table runner, and I’m about to start in on some curtains), I didn’t know how to do that.
“But I thought you were getting domesticated,” he said.
That was the end of that conversation.
Mike and I thought we’d scored by buying a bunch of light bulbs overtly supporting the breast cancer cause. The bulbs were on super sale because breast cancer awareness month is October, and now it’s nearly January.
Our feelings of jubilation ended when Mike just installed one of the bulbs, which to our aggravation, shines pink!
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.
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.
