We were discussing healthcare reform and the economy, in as spirited a conversation as we can have at 11:30 at night, just moments before Bill turns into a pumpkin. (When I say a spirited conversation, by the way, I don't mean a debate; we tend to agree on these kind of issues. Either that, or Bill has learned that with my debating style, resistance is futile.)
In any case, our discourse was not compelling enough to distract me from the rumbling in my tummy. I stood on tiptoe and pulled down Bill's industrial-sized box of Cheerios--which he can eat all by himself in under a week. I paused mid-sentence and plunged my hand into the box, then tossed a handful of cereal into my mouth. I took two more large mouthfuls before Bill noticed what I was doing.
His eyebrows rose at least an inch. "Did you just jam your HAND into my cereal box?" he demanded.
"Well, yes," I answered sheepishly.
"Did you wash your hands first?"
"Um, no..." I answered, my voicing trailing off. I couldn't suppress my silly grin.
"And you gave me such a hard time about the jelly. You are a piece of work, woman!" Bill said, trying to glare at me.
"I know, I know. I guess I might have gotten some germs in the cereal."
"Next time I'll put my TONGUE in the jelly jar."
I wanted to say that, with my compulsive hand washing habit, it wasn't likely that my hands were all that dirty. After all, I'd spent the last 45 minutes sitting on the couch watching Letterman. Then again, I might have done a little Facebooking before that, and who knows what kind of germs could be lurking on the family keyboard. (The rest of them are definitely NOT compulsive hand washers.) So I said nothing in my defense; it was too late to argue anyway.
My Penance
"I'll post a blog entry tomorrow and tell on myself," I promised.
"You don't have to post a blog entry."
"No, really. I will. It's only fair. And I'll find an unflattering picture to post of myself. It'll be even worse than the one I posted of you."
(By the way, the picture I posted on that entry was supposed to be representative of Bill's morning mood. He endured a lot of ribbing at work over the picture and the jelly jar incident, so I figure I really do owe him a particularly awful picture of myself to make up for it.)
Bill kept watching me and trying to give me dirty looks while we brushed our teeth, but he couldn't really be mean if he tried. By the time we collapsed into bed, all was forgotten.
Bill fell asleep instantly, but I lay there mentally reviewing all my pictures on the hard drive. I laughed out loud when I chose the winner. This one was taken by Allyson at the ice cream shop on Ethan's first day of school. She's going to be so proud that I published some of her work. Isn't it awful?? [To get the full effect, you might need to click on the picture to view it in a larger window.]
I think we're even now.
2 comments:
I've got to be honest here. I think Bill just HAD to be spoofing you when he made an issue about your hand in his Cheerios box. Why do I think that? because anyone who would even THINK of sticking his tongue in a jelly jar is completely without discrimination.
So I still think you have room to even up the score with Bill, although I have learned in 37 years of marriage that scorekeeping can be absolutely lethal to a relationship.
SO.....
Perhaps you should let it go.
And Bill, too.
LOL!
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