It Started Out As A Reasonable Conversation...

...and then, as so often happens when my beloved and I talk, one of us turned into a 10 year old and things sort of went downhill.

Scene: Patrick and I are in our bedroom. He is at his desk going over finances and I am making the bed. (Why hello, 1952!) (And no, I wasn't wearing a dress and a string of pearls.) We are talking about things like putting money in the kids' college funds, paying down the mortgage early, and life insurance. My beloved will be hitting a rather big milestone birthday this year, (It rhymes with "shifty.")
and so I think he's having some of those thoughts about getting things in order. As you do.

Patrick: So my life insurance expires when I'm 58. But I'm going to have to keep working until I'm at least 70.

Me: Blame that on Mary Rose. Or my extreme sexiness. So sorry you couldn't keep your hands off me. How did you ever get so lucky, by the way?

Patrick: *eyeroll* Yeah. Um....Anyway. Maybe I should look at adjusting my life insurance terms so that it will expire later.

Me: Yeah. If you're going to be working until you're 70, that's probably a good idea. I'm pretty sure the kids don't want me living with them. They've done their time. And I'll eat lots of things, but I don't like cat food.

Patrick: What about your life insurance? All we have is that big policy on you, so that if something happens to you it'll take care of your burial and allow me to get some help around here. Like a maid.

Me: Yeah, I guess someone has to clean up around here when I'm gone.

Patrick: So a maid.

Patrick: And a concubine.

Me: ...

Patrick: A concubine. That's like a live-in hooker, right?

Me: Sometimes I can't believe where our conversations go. It's fun being married to you. It's like living with Forrest Gump's box of chocolates--you never know what you're gonna get.