As Sophia Petrillo would say, “Picture It”:
Our living room, 10:30 pm. Mr is reclining on the couch, headphones on, listening to an Ayn Rand book or some philosophy text by some important dude whose name I can’t remember (or maybe AC/DC – all three are equally possible, which is another reason why I love this man).
I am returning from having two drinks (Allagash White) with a friend in the neighborhood. I limp in, totally-reasonable-and-not-at-all-too-platformy sandals in hand. My right knee and left foot may or may not be bleeding profusely.