We were driving to a friend’s house this past weekend while the kids chattered on in the backseat. Unglam Papa and I were arguing over the stupid GPS that insists on taking the longest route possible to anywhere. Maybe it thinks highways are evil, I’m not sure, but it refuses to take them unless there IS no other way to get there. We’ve checked the settings and everything but have now chalked it up to its personal preference. Maybe the voice we’ve selected decides our route? Hmm.
Anyway, so in the midst of our irritation with each other we hear the words “marriage” and “husband” and “kiss”. Since our youngest is only 3, our curiosity is piqued and so we restrain ourselves to just evilly eyeing one another and turn our ears to the kids.
V (6): Mama, R and I just kissed like we were married, hee hee.
R (3): Yeah! We’re mawwied! (He did not come with a volume control and yells everything.)
V: You know, how a husband and wife kiss.
Me: Really now? (It seems like an impossible feat seeing as they’re both in their car seats that are not placed adjacently. Also, Unglam Papa and I are not PDA-ers so their concept of marital kissing must come from other sources. Ahem.)
V: Yeah, I kissed R like he’s my wife and I’m his husband. *snicker*
R: No! I’m the hus-bun!
V: No, I am!
R: Hey! No! I am!
V: Okay, Rock Paper Scissors, shoot!
If it were only so simple to decide who becomes the husband in the house.