Last night Danny told me we needed to talk. “An intervention of sorts” is what he said. I was scared. I thought he knew I had just taken a pull from the NyQuil bottle in the upstairs bathroom.
Turns out, he had come across my stash of bananas in the back of the refrigerator. I’ve been saving them with the intention of making banana bread one day. Sue me.
Danny: Honey. Seriously. What in the fuck!!!
Me: I’m gonna make banana bread.
Danny: How many bananas do you think you need to make bread?
Me: I don’t know. 4 or 5?
Danny: You have 10!! 10 rotting bananas!!!
Me: 2 loaves then.
Danny: No. We’re throwing them away. I’ll just buy some banana bread next time I go to the store, okay?
Me: Fine. Pick up some NyQuil too. We’re almost out.