Toast: French And Otherwise

HIM: You’re freaking me out.
ME: Why?
HIM: Two days in a row I’ve woken up to you on the floor exercising.
ME: So?
HIM: I spent years getting used to waking up to you passed out on the floor using a Whiskey bottle as a pillow, a pizza box for a blanket, and pills stuck to your face.
ME: Oh the good old days… I’ve moved on. Billi 3.0, sober, abstinent and centered.
HIM: That’s scary.
ME: Why?
HIM: You might not like me now that you’re sober, abstinent and centered.
ME: I don’t like you. I didn’t like you when I was a drunken drug addict foodaholic. I loved you. Two VERY different things. I mean do you like me?
HIM: Kinda, but kinda not, come to think about it you’re obnoxious as hell… but I can’t imagine life without you.
ME: There you go.
HIM: Do you think this is normal?
ME: You know this is a normal free household…
HIM: So you’re saying we’re not normal.
ME: Of course we’re not normal. We’re happily married.
HIM: Are you happy?
ME: Yeah. Are you?
HIM: No, I’m not happy.
ME: You’re not? Why not?
HIM: Cause you won’t make me French Toast.
ME: ALL RIGHT You’ve been on this train for TWO days! I’ll make you French Toast!
HIM: Okay, now I’m happy.
ME: (Thinking… Being a chef in the kitchen, a lady in the parlor, and a tart in the boudoir is such a curse.)

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