Last night I said to Chris, "awww... this is just like our first date."
The context in which I said this was:
A) Chris cooked a special dinner and we watched a movie.
B) We went out for Mexican food and a mariachi band serenaded us.
C) Chris drove my car home while I threw up all over my own feet and then said every once in a while, "pulloverpulloverpullover" to puke on the side of the road.
Unfortunately for Chris the answer is of course C.
Fortunately for Chris he married me and gets to relive that romantic occasion time and time again. Sometimes I like to remind him that "plenty of men would kill for the privilege of being married to me." I assume that he thinks I'm referring to a plethora of broken hearted boys I left behind from high school and college (ha! what does he know?!), but I always neglect to mention that those unknown/made up men are most likely murderers on death row who actually would... but that's really neither here nor there.
First date: Casey + migraine
Last night: Casey + pregnancy + someone in front of us hit a skunk and the concentrated smell started coming out of our air conditioner
I realize that the skunk got the very worst end of the deal in this particular scenario but holy mackerel... that was something. Although, Chris (who is outside cleaning my car again right now) might in fact argue that he got the worst end.
The evening ended as Chris pulled into our neighborhood kindly promising he would deal with cleaning out my car while I sat in the backseat singing Cinderella's love song, "so this is love... mm mmm. So this is what makes like divine!"
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