Fancy pants

ERIC (cooking): “Do we have any wine?”
ME: “Yes. Wait, check it first; it might be skunked.”
ERIC (mock sighing): “‘Turned.’ Civilized people say ‘turned.’”

Yeah, yeah. As though I didn’t positively hear his brain and gut screaming to pronounce the word “hea-thern” when we were singing in church this morning. Ironically only, of course, but some things run deep enough to hit bone.

(He gets to tease me way more often than should be equitable, really. Of course, our marriage vows didn’t include an oath to keep the mocking balanced, and if the minister had suggested it, I’d have been first to state that teasing should always be administered on an as-needed basis, not by taking turns. If, for example, I were to egregiously mispronounce a word like “poignant,” as I did once when we were dating, the fact that I’d only seen it in print and never heard it spoken is no reason for Eric not to giggle every time he sees the word to this day, muttering, “Poig-nant!” Brought it on myself, I did. But you’d think that every once in a while, life would let me catch him in a slip, wouldn’t you? )