The man is no dummy, he knows the way to my heart is through the grocery store. He wins husband of the year, every single time, when he responds with a "send me your list" to my subtle wails of "I DON'T WANNA GO TO THE GROCERY STORE!! Wahhhhhhh!!"
That's a lot of husband of the year awards. We might need a bigger house to store them in.
If I don't have to do the grocery shopping then he doesn't have to endure me and my post grocery shopping lunacy. That sounds like a win-win to me.
I really really really hate that chore. Like, really. So yesterday when I said "we need groceries" he said, in his wise wisdom-y way, "send me a list." Upon that list were the words lunch and meat.
And . . . this is what he came home with.
Dude, c'mon now, that is not lunch meat. That's a ham. And some crappy, processed, semi-meat product. No matter which way you slice it, that's not lunch meat.
Okay, I will compromise on this and admit that the ham, if sliced appropriately, becomes lunch meat. But who wants to cut up a ham?
Also, there is such a thing as a stupid question. Who wants to cut up a ham? The man does.
And with a big grin upon his furry face, he asked, "Where's the meat slicer?"