Last night. Dinner.
Mr. S.: Honey, what do you want to eat?
Me: I don’t know … what are you eating?
Mr. S.: I can make whatever you want. How about pizza?
Me: Mmmm … no ….
Mr. S.: Pasta?
Me: … that doesn’t really sound good either …
Mr. S.: Grilled cheese? Soup? Mac and cheese? Burgers?
Me: … meh … no … no … not really … ehhh …
Mr. S.: Maybe you should just go look and see what we have. We don’t have to eat the same thing, either.
Me: But I wanna eat what you’re eating! Dinner time should be when we eat together!
Mr. S.: Honey …
Me: (looking in fridge and freezer) Ooh – I think maybe I’ll have this frozen rice bowl. That sounds good.
Mr. S.: Honey, I have three aneurysms just waiting to go. One for you and one for each of our future kids.
Me: Ooh, the pressure.
Mr. S.: And it’s not going to take much, either. One conversation. “What do you want for dinner?” “I don’t know.” And KABLAM! I’m dead.
Me: Maybe you should learn how to meditate.