A couple of Saturdays ago, both girls invited a friend over to play.
It had been raining since Friday night. And energy levels were bordering on manic, probably from being cooped up all day. Shrieks were becoming shriller. Laughter was becoming louder. The thuds and thumps coming from the basement were becoming more thunderous. It was only a matter of time before it would all end in tears.
As a preemptive strike, I went into the kitchen to make the girls a snack.
Only to find that my husband was already there.
Clasping a freshly brewed cup of tea.
In his underwear.
I will say that again, in case you think that you read it wrong the first time.
It was a Saturday afternoon and my husband was standing in the kitchen, sipping a cup of tea, in his underwear.