In which I confess my fear that my husband is trying to off me…
Before I went to bed yesterday I closed most of the windows because it was supposed to get much colder during the night. Before my husband went to bed, an hour or so later, he re-opened all the windows because he is trying to kill me.
I woke up this morning with a mild case of hypothermia. It was freezing in our place. Penguins were marching in our bedroom. I half expected to hear Morgan Freeman’s voice narrating my morning routine: “Megan then hits the snooze button with her frost-bitten fingers and curls back into the fetal position under the covers, awaiting certain death as her internal organs slow their functioning one by one.”
Yesterday I told my husband that it was going to get cold over night and I predicted that if he left the windows open, it would be freezing in our house the next morning.
He disagreed with me, like always. He said, “It’s hot in here.” He said, “It’s not going to be that cold tonight.” But apparently, what he meant when he said those things was “I bet that life insurance policy I took out on Megan would pay out big time if she froze to death in our condo.”
I wonder if Morgan Freeman would speak at my funeral.