Ok, so I’ve been really tired all week, and we’ve eaten dinner anywhere between 8:30 and 10:30 this week. But at least I’ve fed him, ok?
And just now, my sweet, understanding husband says to me, “Hey sweetie, tomorrow night, if you don’t fix dinner too late, we can watch Mission: Impossible III.”
“Oh, ok. If I don’t make dinner too late, huh?”
“Yeah, ’cause you’re a bad sweetie. You better be careful, or I’m gonna go to Mormon heaven and won’t let you in because you feed me late.”
If I feed him at all now.