Aftermath

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Last night, I lay in bed hopped up on stolen candy and nursing a bad case of the giggles. Sugar buzzes are a bitch.

“How much do you love me?” I asked my husband, coy and flirtatious as only a fat, 40 year old mommy can be.

Sensing a request for water, or to check for the 5th time that the pumpkins were indeed extinguished, he sighed with truly heroic forbearance. “Why?”

“Would you help me build a TARDIS?”

“HUH?”

“I’m thinking we should change up our decorations next year, go Doctor Who themed!”

“What are you going to build it out of?”

“Plywood. Duh.”

Heavy, heavy sigh. “I love you. A lot. More than you can ever imagine. Forever and ever, amen.”

“Where’s the but?”

“What but?”

“The ‘I love you, but…'”

“No but.”

“No but?”

“Just this one.” Yes, he grabbed my butt. 

“So we can build a TARDIS?”

“Hmmmm.”  Sounds like an agreement to me!

“I’m going to look for plans tomorrow. I want one that lights up. And whirrs. We should probably find cutouts of the Doctors. And maybe a Dalek. We could BUILD a DALEK! Oooo, and a Cyberman!”

“ZZZZZZZZZzzzzzz.”

He thinks I’ll forget this. Fool.

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