Me: But why do -I- have to be one of the 5% of women to get gestational high blood pressure?
B: I dunnow. Maybe because you’re posessed by the devil?
{later}
Me: Sorry I was grumpy about the garage mess earlier.
B: That’s OK. I’ve accepted your role as Household Hitler. It’s a purely economic decision on my part. I have to meet your standards, and in return I don’t live in a shithole.
Me: But I don’t want to be Household Hitler.
B: It’s easier if you accept your role. Anyhow, I know you’re really sweet inside.
Me: Murfle.
B: Deep, deep inside.
Me: Harumph.
B: Sort of like the Loch Ness Monster. People swear it’s there but nobody’s ever seen it. It lives somewhere in the deep, dark, murky depths of . . .
Me: Uhm, were you wanting to sleep in the spare bedroom forever? Because all you have to do is say so.
I love my hubband.
