Mark’s usually still in bed while I’m getting ready in the morning, which I think is wrong. If I’m up and don’t want to be up and you’re married to me you should get up, too. Because THAT’S what love is.
So I’m getting ready and walking around the bedroom with a light tan colored towel all turban-like on my head. Mark props himself up on his elbows and he’s squinting really hard and staring at me.
Mark: Who… What… oh my gosh, you scared me.
Me: Why? What happened?
Mark: In the dark, and I couldn’t really see, I thought there was a blonde haired woman walking around our bedroom. I was like, who is this person in my bedroom?
Me: A blonde, huh? You sound a little too excited about the idea of a strange blonde in your bedroom.
Mark: It was kind of exciting. I mean, I was going to see if she’d make me breakfast.
Um. I’m not really sure what to think. My husband is awesome because his first thought about a blonde bombshell (heh, I’m taking some creative license on what kind of blonde I’d make) in his bedroom is food. Or I’m really such a bad wife that, according to Maslov, my husband is too hungry to think about more advanced urges, like sex.
I’ll just go with he’s awesome.
And remind him that there’s cereal in the pantry.
He knows where the milk is.