I’m driving. We pull into the Whole Foods parking lot, he’s going to run in quick for milk.
“Is there anything else we need?” he asks.
“Well. The kids want to make apple crisp. I’ll need some….let’s see. I’ll need brown sugar, and oats and butter and apples. Organic sugar and apples.”
“How much of this stuff do you need?” he asks, hand on the car door.
Turning to look at him I smirk, “Well, I need some brown sugar, and some oats, and enough apples.”
I freely admit it. I say it this way to infuriate him. I never go by exact measurements. He has to follow directions to a capital T.
Driving out to the vet for the dog (where we’d been before stopping at Whole Foods), I’d scribbled directions on the back of a receipt. If he’d been in charge, he’d have printed out a set on Map quest, and an alternative set. He likes to know exit numbers. Gets shaky if he doesn’t have an exit number. He likes to know exact point to point mileage.
“How are we even married?” he asks.
There is a long pause, and then I reply,
“You my friend, lucked out.”
It was fun, but now I have to go back to the store today to get my stuff.