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.
“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.
“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!”