So yesterday, during the construction of shepherd’s pie, this happened:
Mr S: Did you have to tell the entire world you can’t follow directions?
Me: Why? Is your value as a man lessened by having a wife who screwed up the microwaving of microwaveable corn?
Mr. S: If my value was based on your domestic abilities, I wouldn’t bring a quarter in a church rummage sale.
Me: I’m going to blog about this.
Mr. S: Clean the corn out of the microwave first.
Me: If I let it dry out, then turn the microwave back on, we can have popcorn.
Mr. S: Let me know how that works for you.
(I make no apologies for the corny title. I’ve heard puns are the lowest form of humor, but whoever said that didn’t spend nearly enough time with twelve-year-old boys.)