Tonight my husband and I were sitting on our swing, watching the sun set over our lake-not-a pond when I confided my deepest, most desperate longing to him. Well, maybe not my deepest dream, but definitely in the top ten.
After I told him I needed a new truck because our 99 Dodge Ram was losing it's pulling power going up hill (poor thing has more miles on it than Mater), I added that maybe we should just go ahead and get a new trailer too. And no need to be stingy, because of my dream, you see.
I want to competetive trail ride someday. Oh sure, it'll be when the kids are older. Shucks, Ainsley's only nine now. Soon as I get her out of diapers, I'll be ready to head for the open trail. Whoa, she is out of diapers! I want that truck and trailer combo lickety-split, baybee! I'm partial to blue, but green is okay in a pinch. The trailer should have one of those swing out saddle holder thingees. And a bathroom. I'm so done with public restrooms.
Peter interrupts me. Excuse me, where did he come up with that? It's rude, and just when I was spending his money. He says he'd like to try some of the Extreme Cowboy race stuff. Puh-lease. That stuff costs money, and if anything is going to cost money around here, it's going to be spent on me. Duh.
Besides, it's my dream. Butt out, Mister.
Our marriage is built on a solid foundation. He makes the money; I spend it. Or, as I like to sum it up: what's mine is mine, and what's his is mine. It's all so easy. Why's he want to go messing with that with his silly dreams for, anyhow?
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