It’s sure a good thing that I love my wife so much, because she can sure be a pain in the ass sometimes. I came home from work one day, fairly exhausted, and she asked me to check the oven for her. She appeared to be working on dinner, so I didn’t think anything of it. I peeked in the oven and saw one of Taste of Denmark’s absolutely mouthwatering cardamom buns sitting bare on the rack.
Just one? That didn’t seem right. I know how much Cathy loves those blasted things (even more than I do, and I’d down just as many as you put in front of me, anywhere, anytime), and she wouldn’t have gone out of her way to get just one. (I didn’t notice until later that she had, in fact, got a small bag full.) Well, maybe she got two and already ate hers, leaving mine in the oven for heating… On second thought, I shouldn’t assume that, in case she hadn’t had hers… so, I turned the oven on and said with a tired smile, “Thanks, babe. I’ll heat it up for us.”
She rolled her eyes at me with the oddest grin on her face, and turned the oven back off. Huh? Okay, well, it did seem unusual that she’d need my help for that, but I didn’t have the energy for a lot of second-guessing. It became clear then, though, that I had missed something. I wasn’t getting the joke. What joke?
“Kevin, what did you find in the oven?” Lovingly patronizing, complete with knuckles on hip and goofy grin.
I stated the obvious. “A cardamom bu-” … And the terrible, awful joke finally sank home–instantly replaced by the marvelous realization behind it. “Really?”
And that is how I found out we were pregnant.
I hugged her, of course, but I also called her a punk.