Me: “It’s your turn to do dinner.”
Him: “No, it’s not. I brought KFC home just last night.”
Me: “Please? I’m on deadline.”
Long pause on his part. Then, “I’m afraid I’m going to need your editor’s verification of that fact.”
Me: “You can’t call her, she’s a busy woman.”
Him: “Or you’re not on deadline.”
Me: “What are you saying, that I’d lie just to get out of cooking?”
Him: “Yes.”
Damn. Caught. “Fine. I’ll do dinner. But I’m not folding socks.”
Him: “Have you ever folded socks? Just asking.”
I swear, I can’t get anything past him anymore.
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