“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.
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