Excerpt from a conversation with The Wife this morning about taking our daughter to her 18-month checkup:
Pete: So, you've got her for the doctor's appointment and the swim class afterward?
The Wife: Yeah, don't worry about me. Just go enjoy your zombie movie.
Pete: You know, I did take her to her last three appointments.
The Wife: The hell you did.
Pete: 9 month, one year, and the time she had that fever.
The Wife: Yeah? Well I gained [n] pounds and went through breastfeeding. Beat that.
Pete: Hey, it's not my fault god hates your sex.
I was expecting another expert right cross delivered to my already perma-bruised upper arm, but she actually laughed at that one.
Taking an 18-month-old has all the thrills, chills, and spills of a zombie movie. And you get to pay a lot more for it.
He-heh...yeah...funny...um, Pete? I'd eat all my meals out for the next month or so.