Pizza
I loaded the last spoon into the dishwasher when I heard her coming down the steps. “At last, the tiny dictator sleeps!” she beamed with her hands in the air like a victorious warrior. She turned the baby monitor on, blew a kiss at our little one breathing softly in the crib and then turned her attention to me.
“Oh wow, you loaded the dishwasher without me having to remind you? Thanks, hon!” She looked at me tenderly.
“I also took out the trash!” I added, like a toddler fishing for treats.
“Hmm, aren’t you all efficient today?” I was rewarded with a kiss and a smirk. “Why are you being so good? Have you screwed something up?” she asked with a raised eyebrow and a sidewards glance.
“What? Nothing! Just wanted to help. We poor husbands can never win.” I nodded my head in mock disappointment and turned my lips down to look like a sad smiley.
It worked exactly like I wanted it to. She threw her arms around my neck and kissed me again.
“And now you’re being cute. Let me order pizza. I know that’ll make ya happy.” she winked and picked up the iPad.
Everything was happening so fast! “Erm, yes, pizza. Sure! You know I love pizza, heh heh!”
She stopped in her tracks, iPad in hand. Her eyebrow shot up. “Okay, but why are you shouting?” There was that smirk again.
Shit!
I stood rooted to my spot, trying to remember whether I had cleared my browsing history.
