(Earlier in the day I watched a popular de-cluttering television show. Now, I am attempting to cook in my mother-in-law’s kitchen and failing miserably because I can’t find anything.)

Me: “Arrrgh!”

Husband: “Hun? What’s wrong?”

Me: “Your mom has so much junk in these drawers that I can’t even open them!”

Husband: “I know, and you know, she blames it on the grandkids!”

Me: “Seriously?! Who needs this many sets of tongs?!”

Husband: “Yeah…”

Me: “That’s it. I’m going to sit your mom down and make her hold each pair of tongs and tell me which ones bring her joy!”

(After a brief bit of, um, intimate groping, I make the following remark to my wife:)

Me: “I think that should go on your tombstone someday: ‘more fun in her pants.'”

Wife: *thinks a bit* “You know, I’m not at all ready for you to die, but I am now hoping you go first.”

(I am getting myself and my baby dressed for the day when my husband runs into the bedroom and throws a cereal box on our bed.)

Husband: “There! Now you can say I gave you breakfast in bed.” *runs out*

Me: *speechless*

(I’m six months pregnant and don’t have many maternity clothes, so I throw on a dress and tights before going to work.)

Husband: “You look really nice today.”

Me: “I ran out of pants that fit.”

Husband: “You’re carrying our child. You are the hottest woman in the world, even more so without pants.”

(My husband is getting ready to go to work, which he really doesn’t want to do.)

Me: “You have to start the car to let it heat up; it’s cold outside”

(He gets an evil grin on his face, walks up to me, and grabs my boob, turning his hand a little.)

Me: “What do you think you are doing?”

Husband: “Starting the car, but it’s not working. OH!” *while still holding my boob, he moves behind me and stands so his front is touching my backside* “Maybe I have to put the key in.”

Me: “Out! Go start the car!”

(He opens up his mouth to say something, but before he does I specify:)

Me: “The Malibu!”

Husband: “But you are my Malibu Barbie.”

(Laughing, he runs out of the house to start the car. A couple of minutes later, he is back inside and asks where his mitts are; I borrowed them to shovel some snow.)

Me: *handing them to him* “Sorry, they are still wet. At work, you should put them by a heater or something so they dry properly.”

(Again, he gets that evil smile and walks up to me, placing a mitt on each shoulder. I just look at him.)

Husband: “They will be dry in no time now.”

Me: *oblivious* “What do you mean?”

Husband: “You said to put them by something hot!”

(He is the weirdest romantic you will ever meet, but he’s mine.)