And he brings home his receipt. We’re trying to keep a closer eye on what we spend each month - just trying to develop good money habits. That’s cool.
So yesterday, I’m on the phone with my mother, chatting away, pacing around the living room. I wander into the dining room and pick up the receipt my husband had left on his computer so he would remember to keep note of it.
“Ah, ah,” I say to my mother on the phone. “I try to make him healthy meals, and I just found a receipt to Jack in the Box*.”
“Tsk, tsk,” my mother clucks with me. “What did he get?”
I squint at the receipt. I am startled beyond all normal proportion. “Uhhh…” I say into the receiver.
“What the heck did he get?” my mother asks. It’s her business. You know it is. She makes it so.
I compose myself. “Ah, looks like it says croissant. Three of them, I think.”
“Oh, well, that’s just healthy man appetite,” my mother says. I am reassured. This wife thing is hard to get the hang of. Sometimes I need such critical advice. 
So, I finish up the phone conversation, and take a closer look at that receipt. As far as I can figure it, it has to mean “Supreme”. Three supreme croissants. Or something along those lines.
But tell me, tell me, please, when you first glance at this thing, do you see anything that might make you do a double take?
I nearly did a spit take. 
-
- [sub] I’m never serious. If he were chowing down 50 burgers a day, I would probably have something to say, but sometimes I just get playful and act like I’m going to go all Blondie** on his ass. [/sub]
** - [sub]Please. You know Dagwood is her bitch.[/sub]