These are the text messages that I recently sent to my wife Rachelle:
Me: No, I haven’t heard back from Nancy.
Me: Well, I can’t think of any reason why she wouldn’t want to do it. It’s an awesome idea!
Me: She owns a cheese shop, so me setting up a grilled cheese booth in there is a no-brainer!
Me: It’s win/win, baby!
Me: Well, I thought I’d pick up one of those Instant Pot things and cook them in there.
Me: The Instant Pot can’t make grilled cheese sandwiches?
Me: Why isn’t that on their advertising?
Me: Well, that sucks.
Me: Thought it could do practically everything.
Me: Yeah, I guess I did kind of imagine it like a robot.
Me: No, not like that.
Me: A benevolent robot, one that serves man, AND is capable of making a grilled cheese sandwich.
Me: Well, if it can’t make a damn sandwich, why the hell was it named Time Magazine’s Person of the year??
Me: Oh, I thought it was.
Me: The Silence Breakers were?
Me: I don’t know who they are.
Me: Yes, they are very brave women. #TimesUp
Me: I am an ally.
Me: Look, we’ve been through this before.
Me: Feminism is many things, many voices–and my collection of vintage Raquel Welch memorabilia doesn’t make me a “Bad Feminist.”
Me: It makes me an ally.
Me: No, not a creep, an ally.
Me: Well, let me tell you, I’d be delighted if she exploited me back.
Me: I really would.
Me: Oh, don’t act so innocent!
Me: You know you want to be exploited by Colin Farrell.
Me: I saw how many times you watched that Miami Vice movie, and I saw the way your eyes got all weird and intense whenever that greasy Crockett came on screen!
Me: I can’t believe you just wrote that!
Me: You’ve stopped going to your low carb support group, haven’t you?
Me: You were very high in agreeability when you were eating carbs.
Me: Now, not so much.
Me: The Rachelle Maynard I know (and love!) would never have said something like that to me if she was properly managing her carb withdrawal.
Me: I can see that now.
Me: I am sorry.
Me: I love you way more than I could ever love Raquel Welch.
Me: If I had a poster of you, I’d put it up over the fireplace. I’d wallpaper the entire apartment in you if I could!
Me: No, not like a serial killer.
Me: Like I’m your Crockett and you’re my Tubbs.
Me: We mustn’t let Trump divide us, my love.
Me: It’s what he wants.