Dave and I were eating at a restaurant the other night. Good food. Good times. For the life of me I can't remember what lead up to what happened, but I can only assume that Dave was being a toot...or I was being a toot and he was being a toot in response...it can easily go either way. Anyway, I had been playing with the paper wrapper my straw had come in. I have a bit of an obsessive habit of folding the wrapper in half, then in half again, and again till it's about the size of a pea. So, I'd been holding onto said wrapper and suddenly felt the need to flick it at him. He deserved it, but, again, I cannot remember why. The wee little thing flew through the air, went right by his head, and landed on the next table over.
Now, as I always own up to things right away, I quickly looked in the opposite direction...I might've even whistled just a bit. Out of the corner of my eye I could see the couple at the table turn to see where it had come from. And, what did my lovely husband do?
Dave: "
She did it." I turned toward them and smiled my sweetest smile.
Me: "I'm so sorry. I meant to hit
him."
Must start target practice. Every day.
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