Days ago, I prepared a zucchini lasagna while that evening's dinner (a cheese, turkey and vegetable pie) finished in the oven. The lasagna was for the next day, you see.

Anyway, I was so proud of myself because I didn't splatter one tomatoey drop on my white blouse! That's a feat! My pride extended so far as to tell a less-than-enthused Miles of the situation! He grumbled something incoherent and rolled over to nap. This reaction, while perhaps discouraging a select few, translates roughly into,

"CONGRATULATIONS! I'M SO HAPPY FOR YOU! YOU HUNG THE MOON! YOU'RE THE BEST—BETTER THAN THE BEST! I CAN'T BELIEVE I MARRIED SUCH A STAR! I'M SO LUCKY! YOU'RE SO AWESOME!"

It continues on further, and for several lines at that, but you get the idea.

My elation carried me through the evening, the next day, and the day after that...all the way until the spell was broken and I discovered the marinara sprinkled wall in our kitchen.

Hey, one outta two ain't bad....

.....right?