(A week ago, my son and I shaved our heads bald for cancer research fundraising. Tonight, my husband, son, and I go grocery shopping.)
Husband: “Do either of you need shampoo?”
Me: *trying not to laugh* “I don’t think so, hon.”
Husband: *quiet for a moment* “Body wash, then?”
(My store has a loyalty program with no card or keyring tag; we look customers up by their phone number. In cases where people are shopping for gifts and are not in the system or not interested in being in the system, we encourage people to give us the phone number of the parent of the child they’re shopping for, so they get the points for the purchase. For the sake of this story, we will say my husband’s phone number is (123) 456-7890.)
Me: “And your phone number for your rewards?”
Customer: “(123) 987-6543.”
Me: “Hmm, nothing under that number. Could it be under your home number?”
Customer: “Oh! It’s probably under my boyfriend’s number. He has kids! (123) 456-78—”
(At this point, my brain stops. I’m thinking, “This can’t be happening. She’s giving me MY HUSBAND’s phone number as her boyfriend’s. What are the odds of this happening?!”)
Customer: “—09.”
Me: *bursts out laughing in nervous relief* “Oh, you have no idea how relieved I am! I thought you were giving me my husband’s phone number! His is (123) 456-7890!”
Customer: *laughs hysterically* “That is great! I’m glad I’m not your husband’s mistress!”
(My wife and I kiss farewell before we head off to our respective cars and our respective jobs.)
Wife: “I love you.”
Me: “I love you. You are the best wife who ever wifed.”
Wife: “You are the best husband who ever husbanded.”
Me: “Not as best as your wifing… That sentence was grammatical!”
Wife: *pause* “I’m out of here.”
(I’m in hard labor with my first child, who is two weeks overdue. After early labor all day, it’s now past midnight and the contractions are unbearable. My husband is driving me to our hospital, forty five minutes from home. I’m in the passenger seat, eyes tightly closed, counting my breathing and the miles under the tires. The car finally comes to a slow stop, and I’m ecstatic that we’ve arrived.)
Me: “Oh, thank God. I can’t take this much more! We’re there, right?”
Husband: “Uh, well…”
Outside The Car: “Welcome to [Tex Mex Fast Food Place]. Are you interested in a combo meal?”
(Two meals ordered, and we were back en route to the hospital ten minutes away. Nine years later, we still joke about being the couple that showed up in the labor and delivery ward with a duffel bag and Tex Mex.)
(I get up to grab something off the shelf when I trip suddenly and nearly fall, barely catching myself on the arm of the couch.)
Husband: “Are you okay?!”
Me: “Yeah. I’m like a badly-written character out of a crappy love story, the way I manage to trip over nothing all the time.”
Husband: “In that case, at least it’s your only flaw.”
Me: *tries to get up and falls again* “I’d rather have flaws.”
