Josh and I have a running argument about my apparent failure to rinse out my cereal bowls in the morning, making it significantly harder for him to wash the bowls later. In general I try hard to rinse things out, but with the pregnancy, some days are better than others. Yesterday, I was in a hurry to get to work, but wanted to rinse my bowl out in order to avoid further maligning of my name. In my hurry, I managed to drop the bowl. It broke into four pieces that then bounced up from the floor, cutting my leg and foot, including ripping open my sock. When I told Josh about what happened the following exchange ensued:
"At least that bowl won't be encrusted with dried on cereal cement when I go to do the dishes. Could it be that you've finally gotten a message from God about soaking your cereal bowls? Yes. Yes I think you have. "
"I disagree with your interpretation. I think this means that YOU should rinse out my bowls because this activity is clearly too dangerous for me and the baby in my delicate condition."
"You're very good at guilt, but I still don't understand how this happened."
"Pregnancy makes you clumsy."
"You're always kind of clumsy."
"Don't be mean."
"I meant that in the nicest way possible."
"Oh yeah? Well you're a jerk. I mean that in the nicest way possible."