“.. He’s kept us company until all hours of the night. He’s been a part of our dreams, our fantasies and ultimately he’s set the standard for our poor hubby’s, unattainably high…”
Last Saturday night, on our weekly date, my husband (who is not the man in the pic on your left) pulled into a parking spot and walked around to my side of the car, (as it was on the way to the restaurant). I sat in my seat, not budging. He looked at me through the window about a foot from the door and said, “Whatcha’ waiting for, c’mon let’s go.”
Of course, I was waiting for him to open said door, but he actually yelled through it – with exaggerated mime like hand motions instead. I pulled the handle and exited with a huff.
“Why can’t you be more like Christian Grey?” I said, in the same way my daughter says things like, “Why can’t you be more like Jessie’s mom? She keeps ice cream cones in her house,” or “Why can’t we live with Julia’s? Her family has stairs.”
Yep, after having failed the many Grey tests I’d administered the last couple weeks, much to my hubby’s chagrin, Continue reading