This is a series I should have started long ago. Like back in May 2004, when Ben was housesitting and I was there, enjoying the satellite TV, and he let me "use" the remote control for 20 minutes, getting more and more frustrated with its spastic and unpredictable performance, until I realized I had the remote for the stereo, and he was secretly changing the channels at whim with the real remote shoved between couch cushions.
Anyway. Those of you who have ever conversed with me have probably heard that story several times. It was, possibly, the catalyst that turned our fling into true love.
Today's Thanksgiving-themed episode finds us home from dinner at my parents', watching the 2-hour Apprentice we taped. Ben gets up to make a snack, won't let me into the kitchen to see what he's making, then returns with a mug of hot chocolate for me, which I refuse to drink, even though I am not quite sure what he's done to it. This does nothing to diminish his glee at crowing, "It's not hot chocolate, it's gravyyyyyyyyyyy! Mwah- ha- hahhhh!" as he pours it over his bowl of reheated cornbread stuffing.
He's already bragged about how he "almost made you drink gravy" twice this morning. I guess he thinks it's funny that I couldn't identify its graviness by smell. Garsh, what a boob. (Him, not me.)
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