"Everyone is the age of their heart."
The recent spit-ball fight between my hubband and I serves as one minor example. I kid you not, it really happened.
There we sat, the two of us, at a local restaurant. We're relatively mature people, but I have my issues. For example, every time we go out to a fine dining establishment I can't help but to gently rip off the end of my straw paper and blow the wrapper in his unsuspecting face. It honestly provides me with sincere pleasure and happiness. I laugh and laugh and he feigns misery. We've gone on like this for years now and I have no intention of ceasing this completely ludicrous behavior.
Apparently, my aim has greatly improved. On Sunday night I managed to hit dear Chad-o square in the nose only to have the straw paper tumble into his refreshing glass of chilled lemon water.
Ever the mature chap, he proceeded to roll the wrapper into a little ball and fling it at me.
Splat! I took a direct hit to the right cheek.
Not to be outdone, I retaliated with a swift toss of the soggy ball.
Shlurp! Chad-o found himself pelted somewhere on his cutie face.
At that point, both of us were laughing so hard that we couldn't breathe and had tears streaming down our faces. For better or worse, we had drawn a small audience. People were pointing. Others were laughing at us.
Oh dear, and to think that the very next day I celebrated my birthday and added another year to my chronological age. Scary.
*Mucho thanks to my mama for the delicious and creative birthday cake. She always makes me feel so special!