My husband nearly got himself killed last night, and it wasn’t because of yesterday’s East Coast 5.9 earthquake.
No, he texted me late last night, letting me know he wouldn’t be coming home.
Why?
“There are no nudes available.”
It was two minutes before he realized his auto-correct mistake and hastily re-texted that there were no “buses” available.
(It is still unclear how his auto-correct got “nudes” from “buses,” but we won’t go there right now.)
That was an exceedingly l-o-n-g two minutes, and it is quite amazing how much of the divorcing to-do list one can suddenly generate and mentally execute in two minutes such as that.
I am just saying.
And after all that, all he really needed was a ride home due to the absence of the nudes, er, buses.
Apparently, had the nudes been available, his bus ride would have looked like this:
Have a great rest of your Wednesday, everyone!