As my husband and I work one and a half blocks apart on the same street and I no longer have to rush home two hours earlier to let the dog out, we’ve decided to start carpooling to work. Tonight, we went out to dinner after our commute home together. It’s freezing here right now (it’s Los Angeles, so by this I mean: it is 47*) and despite the heater being cranked up in the restaurant, I was painfully cold. I am always woefully underdressed for LA winters, as the hours between 9 am to 4 pm every day are always blazing hot and despite living here for my entire life, I still haven’t mastered layering. Upon seeing that I was shivery, my husband immediately stood up, took off his jacket and handed it to me.
Me, looking around: “So, who are you trying to impress?”
Him, totally sincere: “She’s sitting right in front of me.”
Me, warming up, literally and figuratively: “That’s adorable.”
Him, gesturing behind me at an imaginary third party: “No. Not you. Her.”
And that’s the story of how we both ruined the romantic thing he was trying to do for me by being snarky assholes.
Our children are going to be insufferable.