Twelve-hour days are always difficult, especially when I'm still feeling run down. So needless to say, dinner was not something I could manage tonight. I came home and, God bless him, my husband had decided that popcorn for dinner the best and easiest choice. He generously offered me some when I walked through the door, but I could see the look of relief on his face when I opted for cereal instead. We chatted about our day as he happily munched away on the popcorn, licking the butter and crumbs off his fingers. We talked for a while longer and had long since moved away from the table, when all of a sudden 3 pieces of popcorn fall to the floor from UNDERNEATH my husband's shirt. Me (with a disgusted look), him (with a very excited look). I was just about to utter the words, "Ew, gross!" when my man yells, "Manna from heaven!" He bends down and quickly shovels the popcorn into his mouth before carrying on with the conversation as if nothing had happened. Seriously, who does that? I realize that I must simply accept every weird thing that occurs in this house from now on.
    It has to be said, my husband MAY have been a bit salty after reading this blog. He began to annoy me, so I mooned him (obviously, I'm mature). His comment? "Honey, the Super Moon was a couple nights ago, so I don't know WHAT that was." At least I don't eat chest-hair-popcorn.