Incriminating evidence our quasi-pet squirrel trying to steal Mike’s underpants:
I guess the first question would be: “Why are Mike’s underpants on the deck?”
Second questions is: “What in the world would a squirrel do with them?”
Courtney: Mike, did you just fart?
Mike: I can’t remember.
I’m not sure if my husband has been ignoring my flatulence tonight, legitimately not hearing it because he’s so absorbed in his book, or thinks it’s just an instrument playing in the orchestral melodies currently emanating from my instrumental Pandora station.
On second thought, we’re not listening to jazz, so the trumpet has yet to feature prominently in any of the featured pieces. I guess it’s probably not option C.
In preparation for the upcoming Ender’s Game movie, Mike and I are going to read Ender’s Shadow, lovingly referred to in the Soltys household as Bean’s Game.
Being married is great.
A good friend and newlywed was just telling me about how her new husband fixed the sink for her.
And, using a hammer and set of wrenches, my quasi-new husband just dislodged the food-processor part that I managed to get wedged into our garbage disposal.
It’s handy to have someone around who’s comfortable wielding tools.
You know, I get a lot of flack for protagonizing Mike.
However, I personally think that most of the time he’s his own worst enemy.
I present Exhibit A … I mean, that’s a booby trap if I ever saw one!