Marching a Foot Into My Mouth

My wife is one of the most understanding and forgiving people I know. She’ll take almost anything in stride and she’s got a sense of humor that regularly brings me to tears. The list of things she’ll tolerate seems unending.

Recently, while out to get lunch, I felt like I should mention how nice the weather was. It was the first day for what felt like weeks where the humidity was bearable. Leave it to me to complicate something so benign.

“Ya know, it’s so much easier to be joyful in the summer than it is in…say…March.” I said.

Suddenly I noticed a familiar sensation on my tongue. I couldn’t put my finger on it at first, but then I realized what it was: the taste of my own foot. You see, my wife’s birthday, the most glorious event in the history of the world (Hi honey!) is in March.

New items on the list of things my wife will tolerate: foot breath and backpedaling.

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