Sometimes I work late at night on my laptop. My husband sits next to me in his matching recliner and plays games. Yes, he’s in his thirties. All us wives keep telling ourselves it’s just the day and age we live in.
Men still make choices independent of the quantity (and lack of quality) of nonsense society accepts. Still, we marry them and scratch their backs when they need it.
I guess the thing that’s weird to me, tonight, is apparently it’s not ok to kill wild Pokemon, but it’s just fine to kill the adorable little Pokemon of the other trainers in the game. My husband calls it “fainting” but they’re clearly dead.
He just overrode the bad word sensor by naming an unfortunate-looking Pokemon ButWhole. It’s time for me to go to bed.