Knee deep in the waaaater somewhere…

Tuesday, 9:00 a.m. Day off. 

Manny pounces on me in bed, waking me up.

“You’re here,” he says, eyes big with wonder.

I mumbled something along the lines of, “Touché, and I have to use the facilities, so you’d best move your weight off my midsection.”

“I dreamed that we went kayaking and you were eaten by a shark, and I was in my kayak as I watched you get ripped apart piece by piece, and the shark ate all of you except your hand, and then I just sat in my house alone–with nothing but your hand preserved in a jar to keep me company–and was sad. And it was a horrific dream, and you’re heeeeere.” He plants a messy kiss on my cheek.

“I was getting eaten by a shark, and you sat in your kayak and watched?”

“Conclusion: we cannot go kayaking today.”

We went kayaking.

I wasn’t eaten, but it was still a bad choice.

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