The Husband and I
usually get home from work around the same time every evening. Whether I beat him or he beats me, the
result is always that one of us will arrive just as the other one is closing
the garage door and walking inside or, at the very least, distracting the
neighborhood cats with various unidentifiable meat products in gelatinous gravy
while trying to make a break for the rapidly descending garage door, a la
Indiana Jones.
As such, I was a little
bit surprised today to arrive home and find the garage door still shockingly
open and the neighborhood cats happily snarfling around in their “meaty” piles
like happy pigs on a truffle binge. So
I asked The Husband what he was up to.
“Hey, The Husband,” I
said. “What’s up?”
“Nothing much.”
“What
are you doing?”
“I’m
cleaning up from the bookshelf project so we can park the car here again.”
“…”
“…”
“Um,
The Husband…”
“Yes.”
“We
need to talk.”
“No.”
“But
I have ideas!”
P.S.
Unrelated: I may have bought
yarn today.
P.P.S. And now, your baby of Zen. (She’s looking
in a mirror.)
