I was married once. I didn’t like it. And I can’t imagine ever doing it again. But… if Adam Levine were to sing at my wedding, I might consider it. LOL.
Did someone say sugar? (Check out the dancing frog.)
Here’s a pretend conversation between me and my pretend husband:
WTF, wife? You ate the middle of the pan of brownies, when you know I love the middle. It’s the best part — like the top of a muffin.
You’re very observant, husband. Fact is, I’m the one who made this very velvety pan of brownies (which are still warm), with my own two hands (which are larger than Trump’s). My advice to you would be to make your own pan of brownies. Then you’ll get the middle all to yourself.
But wife, don’t you love me enough to sacrifice the brownies in the middle? After all, a brownie is but a momentary pleasure, when I’ve given you a lifetime of pleasure.
I seem to remember doing some giving during our moments of pleasure, husband, which means we’re even on that score. Now, brownies are a totally different matter. The rule for food is: first come, first serve. And since I made the brownies, I came first.
Don’t you want me to come, too?
Are you saying that the edges of the brownies won’t make you come? What, do you need an invitation?
Well, I guess I could top the edges with ice cream or whipped cream or… hey, you know what I’m thinking?
Yes, of course. Do you know what I’m thinking?
Okay, after you’re done with the brownies. After you’re done licking the bowl. And while your tongue is still warm… Do you wanna…
It must be hard to have a one-track mind, husband.
And it must be hard to have a mind with a billion tracks, wife.
Yes, yes, it is. Which reminds me…