“Why is that box of Christmas cards still on your desk? It’s February.”
“Really? I hadn’t noticed.”
My husband gritted his teeth and smiled. “Cute. You’re not actually going to send them out now, are you?”
“No, I’m not.”
“So why don’t you put the box back in the closet?”
“It’s a reminder that I need to send Valentine’s Day cards to the people I didn’t send Christmas cards to.”
“Did you buy Valentine’s Day cards to send?”
“Perhaps it slipped by you that Valentine’s Day was on Monday. Last Monday.” He plucked a dying rose from the vase of flowers that I had forgotten to water all week and waved it in my face.
“No, I remembered. I just didn’t get to it. I’m going to write them out right now.”
“What? You don’t believe I’m going to send the cards?” I raised my eyebrows and gave him as much of the ‘teacher glare’ as I could manage under the circumstances.
“Sure I do,” he answered condescendingly, patting my shoulder gently. I hate it when he does that, because then I feel compelled to take action just to prove him wrong.
So consider him wrong. I mailed my Valentine’s Day Christmas cards this very morning.