Remember how two posts ago I compared my pregnant wife to Jabba the Hutt, thereby incurring the wrath of pregnant women everywhere? Hardly anyone reads this blog, though, you might say. They still know. Last night this pregnant waitress at the Highland Grill gave me the stink eye. They know.
Well, just as quickly as Minnesota turned to spring, then back to winter, and then to spring again, Julie is a popping firecracker of energy. Yesterday I grilled hot dogs and cheesy brats (good 'son' foods because...never mind), and she's been Super Julie ever since.
This morning, she gardened. Gardened. Which basically entailed piling wet leaves from all over our ample gardening spots, then calling "Daaaaaan" so that I could suck them into my incredibly fussy mulcher thingie. Hard grueling work, in other words, and much different from our normal Sunday routine of being as lazy as humanly possible.
Now she's out of the shower and asking for--did you guess it?--leftover brats. They must be her anti-Kryptonite.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment