It’s summer vacation, so I seldom know what day it is, but a couple or three or four days ago, The Mister and Sassy ran out to buy vanilla extract, to pick up some things on hold from the library, and to stop by a Redbox.
When they arrived home, they came into the kitchen to tell me they’d borrowed Fifty Shades of Grey. My husband stood with one hand behind his back. My face burned with embarrassment.
“No. No way,” I shook my head.
“But Baby, I just gotta see it! It’s killin me that I haven’t seen it,” he said.
“Oh my God, I am completely embarrassed to be married to you! I should be ashamed! You should be ashamed! Puttin money into her pocket when she cannot write is such a slap in the face to those of us who can. It’s just, omalord, do you really need to know?”
I leaned on him and gripped his shirt in my fists.
“I shoulda made you read the excerpts. You really should read more books, better books, because then you would know.” I rolled my head back and forth across his chest to release my denial, “No no no no no,” and then paused to reflect on how hitting isn’t nice and I should use my words.
I went back to cooking.
I faced my skillet and hollered long and loud about butt plug training and the unending conversations with her subconscious brain before turning back to him.
“Seriously. I’m so disappointed in you.”
“Baby, why is your face so red? Aren’t you even a little curious?”
“I am so embarrassed to be married to you right now.”
Then he laughed and laughed, Sassy laughed and laughed, and after a lot of their laughing and jumping up and down and knee slapping and hi-fiving, I realized they were teasing me.
“And THAT’S how you pull a prank!” The Mister shouted to Sassy.
Maybe tomorrow, I’ll relate the story of how The Mister’s father taught him to lie to his mother, too.
My post was inspired by this post, written by the great Isabella Morgan.