This morning I found a caterpillar in my plum, and as I had not expected to see it and had almost bitten its head off, I uttered a small shriek.
My husband laughed. “You see, this is why women can’t be presidents. You’re afraid of worms!”
I shot him a vile look, although I recognized the trademarked irony he uses to provoke me. “You know why men can’t be presidents?” I asked.
“Never mind, I don’t want to hurt your feelings.”
“Oh, come on,” he pleaded. “My imagination is far more cruel than yours.”
‘That’s exactly why I will shut up now.”