That Husbo of mine, I’ll tell you what. He baffles.
Just last week I learned that he cannot and will not consider a creamy soup, oh let’s say a nice pureed batch of broccoli and cheddar, accompanied with bread, a meal. It is not a meal. It does not suffice as dinner in the belly. It just does not, even when the dipping of bread is involved. Not even with the bread!
Well, obviously this was highly confusing unto me because I ate that same soup with bread dippage (of course) and someone could have rolled me onto the couch and declared me passed out due to soup fulfillment.
But to the Husband and actually Bosco as well, it is just milk, broccoli, cheese, and bread, that when combined equals NOTHING.
I’m still trying to figure out the physics of it all. But really how is an English major supposed to do that.
So I just decided to make soup all week last week and call it good.
I think the Husband is glad this week is Pasta Week up in here.
And while we’re on the topic of Husband baffles, he usually goes to bed before I do, and I usually use those couple hours of solitude to read books, and by read books I generally mean watch TV, like only an insomniac can do.
So the other night the Husband came into the living room to ask me to turn down the TV because it was taking him longer to fall asleep. Folks he had only been in the bedroom for five minutes at the most. Well of course, I apologized profusely. It felt horrible to know that because of me, it took the Husbo ten minutes to fall asleep instead of the usual three.
And by apologize I mean I also went to bed to go to sleep and tossed and turned for hours like only an insomniac can do.
He hasn’t asked me to turn down the TV since.