Today, while working in my home office, I heard the sweetest sound of my life. It was my wife, howling from the kitchen.
“Where’s my goddamn brownie!?” she shouted. “I will slice your gizzard into bite-sized meat snacks if I find out you touched my brownie!”
I knew, right then, everything was going to be OK.
Allow me to explain:
My wife and I dodged a large bullet recently. It’s a delicate subject, so let’s just say we had an accident. And by “accident” I mean I forgot to put on a condom. And by “forgot” I mean that I was too drunk to realize I hadn’t.
