Me: Why don't you come?Oh, and that wasn't the end of the feistiness. After dinner we were lying on the floor with Meg, trying to get to her to not scream during tummy time. He was throwing her a little blue football someone from the sports department gave me, and she was trying desperately to catch it. It was not going so well. That's when I heard this:
Ryan: I don't want to interrupt your talk about tampons. (Changing voices) I looove that brand. I can't imagine using another tampon. What do yooou like?
Me: We do not.
Ryan: Well, yeah, you need time to talk about how you manipulate the men in your lives.
Ryan: Well, Meg, I guess you could be related to your Mom after all.Yes, dear readers, he was besmirching my catching ability, and to our young, impressionable daughter no less. I guess he is forgetting that I know all kinds of things about him I can tell Meg, like about his love of jam bands, or his constant use of the word "problematic."
He is so lucky I love him. Oh, and that he is smokin' hot.