The wife just called during lunchtime claiming I had tricked her. Huh? I've been sitting here eating my lunch, minding my own business, reading the latest news concerning the new Ghost Rider movie they're making (why is Nicholas Cage still involved?), and am a bit confused by what she says. Perhaps being pregnant makes you delirious?
I don't remember doing anything bad recently, so I ask her to explain. She says that one of the posts I recently wrote is too short. She said she saw me writing it earlier this weekend and that it was really long. The one that I posted was nowhere near that length. She demands to know who I was writing to.
Aw, shucks! You got me! I've got another woman on the side that I've been writing lengthy love letters to! Just kidding. Apparently, her hormonal imbalance has made her highly suspicious to everything I do now. I explain to her that I have a bad habit of writing with too many details, which makes things difficult to read through without falling asleep.
If any of you have read anything I've written in the past, you'll know that they read like mini novellas. Stories that can be told in under a minute, I make drag out for an hour. Therefore, I've recently been trying to cut away the fat from the meat, so to speak. What the wife saw me working on was a fatty piece of steak in which I was meticulously trimming away the fat, so that the only thing left over would be a nice, medium-rare piece of filet mignon. Yummy!
After I explain this to her, she apologizes and says that she's just worried about how she looks after my string of posts about her looks. “No, no baby. You are my beautiful, shining star! There's only room for you in my heart.” I tell her not to worry about such ridiculous things and that she should be more focused about her health and pregnancy than how much I'm writing.
She's been so busy hassling me for days to dress warmer and reminding me how important it is that I don't get sick because she's pregnant, that she's forgotten all about herself. And now she's the one that's sick. Hah! Who's the one that should have dressed warmer?! In your face!
And the moral of the story is: Take care of yourself first. The Baby Expert ain't no baby!
Aw, shucks! You got me! I've got another woman on the side that I've been writing lengthy love letters to! Just kidding. Apparently, her hormonal imbalance has made her highly suspicious to everything I do now. I explain to her that I have a bad habit of writing with too many details, which makes things difficult to read through without falling asleep.
If any of you have read anything I've written in the past, you'll know that they read like mini novellas. Stories that can be told in under a minute, I make drag out for an hour. Therefore, I've recently been trying to cut away the fat from the meat, so to speak. What the wife saw me working on was a fatty piece of steak in which I was meticulously trimming away the fat, so that the only thing left over would be a nice, medium-rare piece of filet mignon. Yummy!
After I explain this to her, she apologizes and says that she's just worried about how she looks after my string of posts about her looks. “No, no baby. You are my beautiful, shining star! There's only room for you in my heart.” I tell her not to worry about such ridiculous things and that she should be more focused about her health and pregnancy than how much I'm writing.
She's been so busy hassling me for days to dress warmer and reminding me how important it is that I don't get sick because she's pregnant, that she's forgotten all about herself. And now she's the one that's sick. Hah! Who's the one that should have dressed warmer?! In your face!
And the moral of the story is: Take care of yourself first. The Baby Expert ain't no baby!
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