“Good morning, handsome!”
It was February 1, and my alarm had barely stopped beeping. With a groan, I pried apart my heavy eyelids to peer blearily at my wife who was hovering over me with a cherubic grin. She planted a big juicy smackaroo on my somnolent physiognomy.
“What’s going on?” I muttered.
“Nothing particular. I’m just excited! It’s February.” She raised her eyebrows and her eyes took on the look that every husband dreads. It was the look that meant she expected me to be reading her mind.
I tried to stall for time. “Whad’ya know? February already. Isn’t that something? Where does time go?”
She inclined her head slightly and bored into me with those eyes. Evidently my stalling was not doing the trick. I needed to carefully attempt to milk a hint from her while simultaneously bluffing that I had some clue what she was talking about. I winked conspiratorially. “Hey, you know what February means.”
Her eyes twinkled with what I desperately hoped was not mockery. “Yes I do. Do you?”
“Do I? Oh, do I ever. Yes I do. You betcha.”
“Good, I wouldn’t want you to forget this year.”
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