Place: Kitchen. Time: Five Minutes Ago.

Robert and I were discussing - and for the life of me, I don’t know why - the fact that the words “Mussolini” and “fart” don’t rhyme, when I grabbed Robert’s glass of water and took a swig.
Robert: Why do you drink like that?
Me. Like what?
Robert: With your mouth like that. Did you know you do something weird with your lower lip when you drink??
Me: No, I don’t. (I run to the mirror and watch myself take a drink) Oh, weird! I had no idea I did that!
Robert: Yeah, every time I see you drinking something I watch you do that and wonder how you can even drink. Then when you’re not looking, I try and drink like that and I can’t.
Me: So for the last 4 and a half years of marriage you’ve been harboring this secret? I hope no one else has noticed that I do that.
Robert: Probably not. No one observes you like I do.
Me: (snickering) You have no idea.
Robert: Who?
Me: I’m not telling you, it’s none of your business.
Robert: Fine, then I’ll just go to Tao and observe the large breasted woman.
Me: You do that anyways. And while you’re there, take a picture of them and tell her that your wife needs it to give to her plastic surgeon.
Robert: No way, hers are way too big. I can't even see her face. I look at her and all I see are boobs.
Me: Isn't that all you men see when you look at women anyways?
Robbie (sitting at the table playing with Play Dough): Baby is sitting in my seat!
Me: Someone call the American Embassy!
Robert: Is he in a foreign country?
Me (who had just stepped on a hundred little balls of play dough): Robbie you’re dropping your balls.
Robert: That’s called puberty, honey.

Then I went on to the couch and finished eating my strawberries, wondering to myself, why can't I have a normal marriage and/or kitchen experience like everyone else?