Craig and I were in the kitchen earlier (in fact just a few minutes ago which shows my dedication to you, my internet, that I will cook dinner and update at the same time!) and he was dealing with the unsavoury business of slicing chicken while I retrieved the Hoisin sauce (how is that pronounced anyway?) from the fridge.
Not furthering the reputation of small large-breasted women everywhere I was struggling to open it. And so, furtheing the reputation of my all-knowing-feminist mother I leaned over and banged the jar against the floor several times, swearing halfway through.
I put the jar down on the counter and Craig turned to me and said in a vaguely bemused fashion “D’you want some help there?”
Instinctively my left hand felt for my hip, my left eyebrow raised and my lips skewed ever so slightly, left (my left side gets very het up) and I measured my next words very carefully. They were a level tablespoon of “Excuse me?”
I think I saw him withdraw ever-so-slightly and he wrinkled his eyebrows and said “oh, did you get it open” pausing between each word.
“Of COURSE I did!” my left hand was still cemented to my hip “I am a … strong … independent woman and we don’t need men for anything! Except maybe that procreation thing”
Craig fell back on his fool-proof method to talk me down from any (and all) ledge. He became annoyingly adorable “yes you do, you need us for love, and hugs” my eyes rolled “and … to buy you things and drive you places” he was almost winning with that one so I buried my head in his chest for a second, looked up at him (being short can be useful) widened my eyes and tried to out-cute him.
“Nooo we don’t! I don’t need you for anything, except that procreation thing because I want my babies to have your eyes” he kissed me! I was winning “with my eyes as the only other option. I don’t want my babies to have some creepy sperm donor eyes … they’d be all white and squiggly”
Craig broke down into laughter and victory was mine.