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.
The Grown-Up 
You’re kidding, right? I can see the hand in the hair moment.
I’m laughing whether you like it or not! I don’t think men should be allowed to read this. They might get ideas. At least until they read the last line.
I wish I were joking. But, alas, I am not.