Smug satisfaction fills me, my ploy prevailed… the mopping done, my wife cooked me a delicious meal :).
— C.G.Ayling (@CGAyling) October 13, 2012
This morning my wife dragged me upstairs, enslaved me, then forced me to clean up my tools – which had mysteriously begun accumulating in the kitchen.
After my release from this barbaric and prolonged internment, (it must have taken nearly five minutes!), I looked at her hopefully and said “I’d love some fried green tomatoes for breakfast.”
Steel gray eyes glinting, she responded “And I’d love you to mop the floor.”
Turning away, I started toward the stairs, murmuring, “I’ve lost my appetite”, in piteous tone.
A chuckle, a derisive snort, “Thought of cooking has robbed you of your appetite? Poor boy.”
Deliberately misunderstanding her callous coldness for sympathy, I responded “Don’t worry, honey. I’ll get it back… as soon as you’ve finished mopping the floor.”