Last night Brian and I were fortunate to enjoy the company of two good friends. Naturally, before they arrived, I was doing a typical house-sweep and frantically prepping a salad. My husband had done an excellent job of tidying up the house, but I had a sudden thought while tearing up the romaine lettuce:
Me, “Brian, can you light a candle in the guest bathroom?”
(We have about four or five situated on the shelving that surounds the toilet.)
He grabbed a lighter.
Brian, a minute later, “Aww, $*%#! I just tried to light a plastic candle! This isn’t a real candle!”
Me, “You lit one of the battery operated ones?”
Brian, “You can’t light these. I melted it.”
Me, “Brian, the real candles are over the toilet. Does our bathroom smell like burnt plastic now?”
(Kinda defeats the purpose of making the bathroom smell delightful, right?)
And in more silly news, I played a wifely trick on Brian this morning. The last time that I landed at Nordstrom Rack, I discovered that a certain bra was on sale. My sister and I have dubbed these bras “Fishbowl Bras” for one obvious reason: if you decide to wear this particular brassiere, you will look like you’ve had an expensive surgery below the clavicle and above the ribs.
…’Twas only ten bucks…
Yeah, I’ll pay ten bucks to see that look on Brian’s face.
Fishbowl Bra was safely hidden for a couple days… Until this morning.
Trying to prolong the mystery, I layered with a v-neck T-shirt to keep him guessing.
Casually, I entered Brian’s presence, trying to suppress my grin.
It took him all of two seconds to notice and to comment.
Brian, “Your boobs look big today… in that shirt… Are you pregnant? Are you having a baby?”
I doubled over in laughter. Of course that would be his response. He always thinks I’m pregnant.