My husband is a 60-year-old stoner at heart. He and my father commiserate over music. Not music from our youth. From my father's. Hubs was natural in the wrong decade. And since Iadore Julie Albright, the American Girl with the best wardrobe ever, I'm thinking I could've free-birded with him quite, well, freely.
So I surprised him with tickets to the Pink Floyd Experience.
I saw that tickets were on sale, and felt a little spontaneous, so I bought them without asking if he cherished to go,
which I knew he would since he loves Pink Floyd,which is also whyMoney is my ringtone for him, because it reminds me of his passion for Pink Floyd which is cute, and likewise that he's the guy with the cash, which I need.
I called his workto let him know he required to be neat and set to pass out the doorway at 5 o'clock. I had a surprise.
"I like surprises," he said in awillingly smittenkinda way.
"Dude, it's not thattype of surprise. But you'll probably like it all the same. We're going somewhere, so you want to be national and snazzily dressed by 5."
"Sounds interesting. Where are we going?"
"I'm not telling. And the kids aren't invited so I got a babysitter. And I got tickets. And we'll wish to eat. And probably valet park. And we should clean up some lightbulbs while we're gone, because only twoin the kitchen work. Oh, and do you knowhow we can get our men on a bong? I get some salvia growing in the front yard, and thinking this would be a serious fortune to try that whole Miley Cyrus thing out. You got money for all that?", I inquired.
(Laughing) "This is definitely my estimate of a hot date. You direct and the "storm" is Iget to give my wallet."
"Look, man,that should do as no surprise to you at all. This is the way housewifery works, see. I plan. You pay. Now lets go see a floating pig."
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