Sigh. This one's for you, ladies.
This morning, as FI is puttering around the kitchen making breakfast, I am sitting at the table addressing our invitations. These invitations which are going out on Monday. These invitations which are taking me 20 minutes a piece to calligraphy (calligraphatize? calligraph?). These invitations for which we have exactly *2* extra envelopes in case of mistake, since an additional pack of them would have cost us $35.
FI comes over to the table, kisses me on the head, and watches over my shoulder for a while as I address his uncle's invitation. Thinking that he's admiring my awesome gold calligraphy, and feeling somewhat obnoxiously smug about it, I fish for a compliment and say "Whatcha lookin' at, baby?"
In a completely unconcerned, mildly curious tone, as if he's wondering whether he should put swiss or pepperjack in the omelette, he says "I'm just trying to remember if uncle mike still lives there or not. I think my mom said something about him moving last month."
?????????????????????
Oh - and then he set a cup of coffee down 6 inches away from the "finished" pile.