DH, the dog and I went for a walk yesterday afternoon. DH wanted to check on the progress of the well on the farm next door. I just wanted to get some movement after sitting on my butt most of the day. Tuck wanted to be free to re-mark his territory, after the neighbor dogs used his favorite spots.
I had been to the dentist and told DH what has to happen there next, for me. (Don't ask.) I relayed the message the dentist had for him: "Tell Andy it looks like he's going to have to work until he's 85 to pay for all this." We -- the dentist and I, knowing that DH has started a somewhat premature countdown to retirement -- thought it was very funny. DH: not so much.
All of that chatter led to a discussion about how annoying it is to be getting older and falling apart at the seams. Conclusion: we'd both be better off if we'd just lose 20 pounds. Each. DH said we need to buy a new bathroom scale. Being the cheapskate that I am, I said, "No we don't. If you just add ten pounds to whatever it reads, it's right in line with the doctor's scales."
Me: "So what does THAT tell you?"
The poor man ate a light supper when we got back, and went to bed early.
You just can't make this stuff up.