The other day my youngest was complaining that the nachos his short-order cook mom had made weren’t made right. “Your supposed to mix the spices into the refried beans before you put them onto the nachos.”
I reprimanded him and he apologized then went into his room to eat his nachos and play guitar hero.
After he left the room I said, “He sure is picky.”
“You both are” she retorted.
“That’s why I married you honey,” flattery gets me everywhere.
She looked me up and down and replied: “Yeah, I know. I guess I must not be too picky.”
I still don’t know exactly how she meant that.
April 20, 2007 at 3:51 pm
Rofl.
I’d like to know more about how you’re so picky though. Perhaps your redhead will leave a post or two here?
May 16, 2007 at 12:32 pm
doh.