Last Saturday night, on our weekly date, my husband pulled into a
parking spot and walked around to my side of the car, (as it was on the
way to the restaurant). I sat in my seat, not budging. He looked at me
through the window about a foot from the door and said, "Whatcha'
waiting for? C'mon, let's go."
Of course, I was waiting for him to open said door, but he actually yelled through it -- with exaggerated mime-like hand motions. I pulled the handle and exited with a huff.
"Why can't you be more like Christian Grey?" I whined, in the same way my daughter asks things like, "Why can't you be more like Jessie's mom? She keeps ice cream cones in her house," or "Why can't we live with Julia's family? Her family has stairs." Read Here
Of course, I was waiting for him to open said door, but he actually yelled through it -- with exaggerated mime-like hand motions. I pulled the handle and exited with a huff.
"Why can't you be more like Christian Grey?" I whined, in the same way my daughter asks things like, "Why can't you be more like Jessie's mom? She keeps ice cream cones in her house," or "Why can't we live with Julia's family? Her family has stairs." Read Here
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