I set down the bowl of ravioli and a cup of coffee on the nightstand.
“I brought you Fancy Breakfast!” I announce with fanfare.
“Thanks!” My husband, Scott, is working from his satellite office-slash-bedroom.
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“You know what makes it fancy?” I ask, cheerfully.
“It’s in a bowl?”
“Yes! And HEATED UP!” I am such a braggart about my culinary skills.
“Wow! It IS fancy!” he says, without even an iota of sarcasm.
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“Living like kings, baby!” I’m walking out of the room.
“In exile!” he continues.
“And recently deposed!”
By now I’m halfway down the hall, shouting exultantly, “But kings nonetheless!”