I had called The Husband from our annual Christmas Party (yes, I said Christmas Party!) to say I'd be catching a later train home. He mentioned he made stir fry for dinner and he'd packed some for my lunch the next day. Frantastic and Robilicious made smoochy noises when I hung up. "Awwww! That's so sweet!"
But the truth is, these girls scare me. They've put a price on my head.
It seems that Frantastic and Robilicious have decided that once I pop off, one (or perhaps both) of them will gladly fill my wifely shoes.
I've mentioned this to The Husband many times. He thinks I'm lying. I'm here to tell you, Sweetie, that Fran and Robi both read this blog and I wouldn't put it in writing if it weren't true.
When I got home from the party, I told The Husband that the girls were all mushy over his lunch gesture. He rolled his eyes. "I'm telling you," I insisted, "These girls are going to off me. There better be a police investigation!"
He pulled me into a bear hug. "It just wouldn't be the same," he murmured, giving me a squeeze.
I stepped back.
"I don't know," I said, pouting, "Fran and Robi can both cook."
He smiled wistfully, pulled me back into a hug and said:
"Definitely wouldn't be the same."