I sometimes think that my dear, sweet, devoted, loving, caring and nurturing hubby has - well - control issues.
Saturday night we are sitting patiently in the darkened movie theater for "Clerks 2". Adjusting the center arm so that maximum snuggles are achieved I grab my cherry icee and start to stir the contents to better situate the juice.
"Uh - what're you doing?" Harry stiffens.
"I'm, uh - what?" I wonder if I've accidentally racked him while snuggling. It's one of the hazzards of dating an accident-prone woman. He should really invest in a good cup.
"Why're you stirring it?" He points to my icee with his free hand.
"I -" Stopping I sit up and turn to face him. "I think I know how to eat an icee, thank you very much."
He burst out laughing and tried to grab it from me to prevent any more ill-timed stirrage. "No! You don't! You don't know how to eat an icee! You can't stir it before the juice is all gone from the bottom!"
I continue to stir in slow, torturing circles.
"You're doing it wrong!" he yells in fits of laughter.
"Yup." I say and place my lips on the straw. "And it tastes sooooo good!"
I didn't give him too much hell for it - after all - I did get the cutest Tiffany's trinket from him (that's my neck in the picture above!).
However, I don't know if I'm going to be able to resist doing things "wrong" on purpose just to mess with his over-calculating brain. Like eating a pizza backwards, or stapling on the right hand corner, or parting my hair on the wrong side, or even - just for giggles - switch the sides of his entertain tower and put the games on the right side and the television seasons on the other! OH! What hilarity would ensue! ahahahha