Oy vey.
BILL: Beebit, I'm home!
ME: Dude, it's a quarter after midnight, where the hell have you been?
BILL: I told you I was working late.
ME: You said "Not too late, probably home by ten." I couldn't get a hold of you, and you didn't call, and I started freaking out that you were dead!
BILL: Well, yeah, I ended up working later than I thought, but I called my mom to let her know.
ME: *flails* That's great, Babe, do I look like your mom to you? Why didn't you call me? And why didn't you answer your phone when I called you?
BILL: I'm sorry. *hugs* You called me?
ME: Yeah, twice.
BILL: *checks phone* Oh, my phone is off. I wonder how that happened. Oops.
ME: *bangs head on husband's chest* Well, just to warn you, there's a rather terse message on your voicemail from the second time I called.
BILL: *dials voicemail* I'll just listen to your angry message now, and get it over with.
ME: Not angry, just worried.
VOICEMAIL: "Hey, Babe, it's...after midnight. And I'm starting to worry, so...if you could call me and tell me where the heck you are, and that you're not an inch deep on some freeway divider...that would be great. Loveyoubye."
BILL: *speaking into cell phone* Don't be worried, Beebit! I am not dead, just buried in books and my phone is off!
ME: *eyeroll*
BILL: You love me anyway. *grin* I'm cute!
ME: Good thing, too.
Another reason it's a good thing he's cute: I asked him where the cleaning kit for his 9mm was, and discovered that he doesn't have one. He's been jerry-rigging my .22 kit to clean his 9mm for the past *counts on fingers* seven years. Which...just...no. Granted, I'm pretty sure it got field stripped and properly worked over a couple times by my brother in that seven years, but still: no. So today's list of to-dos include a stop at Big 5 and a very thorough cleaning of one Browning handgun. *headdesk*
ME: Dude, it's a quarter after midnight, where the hell have you been?
BILL: I told you I was working late.
ME: You said "Not too late, probably home by ten." I couldn't get a hold of you, and you didn't call, and I started freaking out that you were dead!
BILL: Well, yeah, I ended up working later than I thought, but I called my mom to let her know.
ME: *flails* That's great, Babe, do I look like your mom to you? Why didn't you call me? And why didn't you answer your phone when I called you?
BILL: I'm sorry. *hugs* You called me?
ME: Yeah, twice.
BILL: *checks phone* Oh, my phone is off. I wonder how that happened. Oops.
ME: *bangs head on husband's chest* Well, just to warn you, there's a rather terse message on your voicemail from the second time I called.
BILL: *dials voicemail* I'll just listen to your angry message now, and get it over with.
ME: Not angry, just worried.
VOICEMAIL: "Hey, Babe, it's...after midnight. And I'm starting to worry, so...if you could call me and tell me where the heck you are, and that you're not an inch deep on some freeway divider...that would be great. Loveyoubye."
BILL: *speaking into cell phone* Don't be worried, Beebit! I am not dead, just buried in books and my phone is off!
ME: *eyeroll*
BILL: You love me anyway. *grin* I'm cute!
ME: Good thing, too.
Another reason it's a good thing he's cute: I asked him where the cleaning kit for his 9mm was, and discovered that he doesn't have one. He's been jerry-rigging my .22 kit to clean his 9mm for the past *counts on fingers* seven years. Which...just...no. Granted, I'm pretty sure it got field stripped and properly worked over a couple times by my brother in that seven years, but still: no. So today's list of to-dos include a stop at Big 5 and a very thorough cleaning of one Browning handgun. *headdesk*