At the gym last night, the milliner and I are sitting back, taking a break. At one point, she tells me, “So, my flight leaves Tuesday, and I get back on Saturday night, late.” Um, “where are you going again? San Francisco, right?” (I am so attentive to her life.)
We begin discussing when she’ll be gone, when I should go to the airport to pick her up, etc. etc. “So I guess,” I remind her, “that you’ll be spending the weekend doing the groceries and cooking my meals for the week, right? What with you being gone all that time? You know, you being the submissive lady of the house? Ouch!!”
Instead of whacking me a second time, she offers up, “But honey. I would never think of making all your meals. I wouldn’t want to insult your culinary skills.”
Curses, foiled again.