Marriage: Endgame.

This conversation, or a reasonable facsimile thereof, happened.

Me: “It was the sweetest thing, honey. When I picked up Son from the daycare today, we were just about out the door, and he turned and looked at the two teenage girls who were helping out there, and he said, ‘Love you!’”

Wife: “Awwww. That’s so sweet. He’s such a little flirt!”

Me: “Oh, sure. You condone it with him. You don’t condone my flirting, though.”

Wife: “If you flirted with the babysitter, I’d kill you.”

Me: “Really?”

Wife: “Yes. Physically kill you.”

Me: “But … isn’t that what they’re there for?”

And then her cell phone lost its signal.

For all of you legal types out there who might read the above as a threat against my physical well-being, don't worry. It wasn't a threat. It was actually more of a promise. I'm cool with that.

(Oh, and the title of this post should be taken entirely in the spirit in which it was intended, with tongue firmly planted in cheek.)