As we have recently demonstrated, Husband does not have magic time-telling powers.
He claims he does, but that’s because he’s a bullshitter. He’s such a dedicated bullshitter I’d be afraid to take him to a rodeo, for fear he’d actually climb on top of a bull and poo on it.
Yes, I’m still mad.
Anyway, at least one of us never claimed to be good with time—actually, I’ve gone so far as to explain, in great detail, how it is that I’m always late and proved that time itself is conspiring against me so I think we can all agree the current uneasy relationship time and I have is entirely the fault of time itself. That person, as it turns out, is also the one who takes the most crap for being clumsy with time. And, as you’ll see, numbers as well.
Pfft. As if they’re the same.
HIM: (tucks me in)
ME: (sleepily) What time is it?
HIM: Do you really want to know?
ME: ‘s gotta be like 10:30… 11… 40…. 7…
HIM: It’s 10:01.
ME: Told you.
HIM: (smiles) Good night.
ME: G’night. I love you many!
HIM: It’s really hard for me to believe that when you just showed me how bad you are with numbers.
ME: Am not! When did that happen?
HIM: Just now. You thought it was 10:30 or 11-something and it’s 10.
ME: That’s time.
HIM: But you—
ME: And I know I love you lots and—
HIM: See, that I believe. But I don’t think you know how much a many is.
ME: I’m do so!
ME: It’s more than a lot.
I can feel you agreeing with me, taking my side, and I want you to know
It means a lot to me.