Me: Stephan, what do you want to say to our adoring fans?
Him: I hate your cat.
Me: [can't type, laughing too hard] Come on, something better.
Him: The thing you forgot to tell them about the trip to Ingomar was that it lowered my blood pressure. For the first time since puberty my blood pressure was below the normal 120/80. This basically means that keeping me from camping is actually a death sentence. What do you say to that?
Me: [insert dramatic eye roll]
Him: Wanna ask me if my life insurance is paid up?
Me: You really think it was the camping, and not just the distance in miles away from anything resembling work?
Him: Nope. It was the camping. A scientific certainty. Apart from the blood pressure thing, did you tell everybody that we're going to start a ranch this fall? Or, as I like to call it, the geriatric 4-H program.
Me: I keep forgetting about that on purpose. What about it?
Him: After we register our brand we'll buy three impregnated cows, care for them through the winter, help them calve, fatten up their offspring, and hopefully sell them off in the fall for a little money.
Me: Our backyard isn't big enough, and I don't think the dogs want to share our bed.
Him: They're not pets. They'll stay at Fuzz's, he's a bachelor, there's room in his bed.
Me: Ok, I'm tired. Bedtime.
Him: I still hate your cat.