Nothing gets my husband talking to me faster than when I come home with a box filled with test tubes, racks, notebooks, mysterious egg-terrariums, complete with our daughter carrying a bright yellow lead pig that I doctored with “Radioactive Materials” stickers prior to letting her bring it in the house.
Either it was that or the choreography I went over with Fuzzy earlier. I don’t know what did it, but I couldn’t be happier that we’re talking again.