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“Brett,” I ask my husband, “What’s the weather like today?”  He has just come in from a brisk run and is panting a bit.
“It’s nice,” he says, a slight hesitation to his voice.  He knows what’s coming next.
“Nice cool or nice warm?”  I ask.  “Should I wear a jacket?  A sweater?  Just a scarf over my t-shirt?  Or, like, a scarf and a sweater?”
Brett ignores my questions and walks past me.  “I’m going to take a shower.”
“Maybe my leather jacket?!” I call up the stairs after him, but he does not reply.
My husband of 13 years does not reply because he knows me too well.  He knows that I am hardly ever satisfied with my preparations for the weather and that, somehow, this is his fault.  Click here to read the rest on The Huffington Post.