Last night Monica and I tag-teamed the yard. She is an incredible lawn cutter and enjoys mowing, which makes me one of the luckiest men alive. I, however, had the task of starting the weedeater for the first time this year. Now imagine this: Monica peacefully mowing in the backyard whistling with the birds, and behind her the Incredible Hulk in a war with lawn equipment. I could not get this thing started for the life of me, so, as a show of my dominion over the weedeater, I hurled it across the yard. Monica just kept mowing and didn’t see it, nor did she see me repeat this epic battle four more times. I could just imagine one of our neighbors watching us and seeing this angelic wife mowing in peace, while her monster husband hurls lawn equipment across the yard. I finally won the war and ate weeds and edged the driveway, and we all lived happily ever after. . .
Oh, and one more thing. I am declaring my independence from making Monica any more lunches for work, because without fail, she somehow accidentally forgets about it and goes out to eat every time. I spent two whole minutes this morning making a sandwich for her that remains uneaten—how much more does she expect me to do, huh? On our 450 miles of discussion home the other day, she asked me if I remembered her making lunches for me when I worked at ISIS in OKC, and I didn’t remember it, so I guess we’re even.
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