Patients,
Please take note as to what can happen when you don't listen to the woman you married. If it can happen to our very own DDS. Brynn, it could most definitely happen to you. Now, doesn't he look silly?
Dolisten to your wife when she warns you that the sharp, shiny leaves in the grass appear to be stinging nettle.Do notignore her and play rugby with your friends on it anyway.
In picture number two, Ross’s hair and goatee are an absurd color caught between baby shrimp pink and the Band-Aid color of Brenda’s car. If you hold it back just so, he looks like a fuzzy harvest peach.
I smile because I remember giving him so much crap for it that day. The fact is, I don’t hate the guy. In fact, I’ll care about him for the rest of my life. He’s the kids’ dad, and he’s a good dad at that. Still, I remind myself that he asked for this.
The do’s and don’t’s on this one are listed as such: Dolisten to your wife when she tells you not to drench your hair and goatee with Sun-In, especially if you’ve never been blond.Do notignore your wife and leave it on for an entire day in the sun while picking peaches because you may end up looking like one.
I decide not to post the third one because it involves something a little more…personal,and, as it turns out, I don’t feel good sharing it after all. It’s a shame, too, because it took quite a while to find the one photo we have—taken in the ER, mind you—of Ross’s backside looking like a pin cushion.Dolisten to your wife when she tells you to just let the porcupine exit the tent on its own.Do notenter the tent with a garbage lid shielding your face and obstructing your view as the critter scurries behind you and lets loose.
I give in to another fond grin because we really did have some good years together. But this is where we are, and it feels right, too.
I step back and observe my masterpiece with a wide grin. I know it’s not edible or anything, but it turns out that childish revenge is so tasty I give myself a chef’s kiss. What the heck? If you can’t keep it classy, you may as well make it sassy.
I pass Andrea on the way out, so I hold the door open for her and thank her again for transferring my records.
The gasp that follows tells me she’s already spotted my handiwork.
I ease into my car, back it up to get a perfect view of the waiting room, and realize I forgot the popcorn. It’s all right, I’ll still enjoy the show.
Andrea’s already waving some of the other gals to check out the scene. I watch them funnel in one by one in their matching pink scrubs as laughter bubbles up my throat. They cover their grins and gasps, bumping elbows and pointing to certain spots on the board.
I hear the loud, familiar boom of theLet’s Get Ready To Rumblesong, something Ross blasts before every staff meeting. Once all of his beauties are accounted for and waiting on him, Ross struts in, bouncing his shoulders.
The women are so loud this time that I can hear them from here, which seems to encourage Ross to really ham it up even more. He’s doing his half-dance, half-strut number when he spots his own half-beast face on the board.
His arms drop.
His cocky expression slips too.
And his eyes, well, let’s just say they bulge enough that I could snap an entirely new picture:Don’tmess with your ex-wife during her mid-life crisis phase.
He’s gawking at the board from a close distance now. Brenda, bless her, strokes his wilted shoulders before turning to look out the window.
Ross follows suit.
I grin, wave, and then give my horn a playful beep before tearing off into the sunset.
I watch with curiosity as Lucy and Martin squeeze lemons for tonight’s dessert.
We’re celebrating Liam’s birthday at the condo with my family. The larger celebration will take place at the Wheaton home, where we’ll honor both twins, but that will be after Braxton’s wedding, which is a few short days away.
The preparation has become a family affair since the kids saw a TikTok for the lemon creation. They know Liam loves lemons like Nini, and they’re certain the layered number with a ton of butter and roughly half-a-million lemons will hit the mark.
Nini crawls out of her cave just in time to lick the bowl and mutter under her breath that she’s had better. Still, the bowl is so spotless when she’s through that it looks like Fifi licked it clean.
I’m not the best with the grill, but Idoknow how to warm up a few cans of beans and franks while Liam helps Dad with the burgers. The menu was picked out by Liam, who said it’s a nod to our camp supper together, which happened two-and-a-half months ago. He’s sentimental, so he’s been counting.
When it’s time to season the burgers, Liam smoothly hands over the pepper. “Get this open with your teeth, will you, babe?”
“I’ll getyouwith my teeth,” I threaten before nibbling on his earlobe.
Liam lets out a low growl. “Even better.”
“I heard that,” Annica says as she carries out the buns.
