After a long, stressful day, I was stretched comfortably out on my bed, watching Law and Order and crocheting Younger’s afghan, when my husband appeared in the doorway.
“I thought the refrigerator needed to be cleaned out, so I dumped the food into the trash,” he told me, scrubbing a hand through his hair. “But I didn’t really feel like washing the bowls, so I put them back in the refrigerator.” He paused. “Is that a problem?”
Nah, no problem. All I need is one wife on my jury and I’m assured of an acquittal.