Dear Husband.

Last night was dirty.











Devious.











Exiting.











Wrong on so many levels but felt so right.











Deceptive.











Last night I made you dinner and pureed a full serving of vegetables into your spaghetti sauce.











MUAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAAAAAA.







I watched you hunker down in front of your steaming plate of spaghetti.






I watched you cut your noodles and mound your first bite onto your fork.




I hoped you wouldn't notice that the noodles were %100 whole wheat.




You chewed and your head began to nod.




Once you were able to speak you said "Good spaghetti babe"



I looked at you from across the table with devilish eyes and simply said:



"Thank you."





It took all my will power to not start jumping around, pointing my finger at you, yelling "You're eating an entire serving of vegetables! MUSHROOMS, GARLIC, ONIONS AND SPINACH!



HA!



AND YOU LIKE IT!



What now, Bitch!?




Alas, I refrained, knowing that you may very well dump your entire plate into the garbage can, sprint out the front door, scraping the "icky" off your tongue and burnout in the drive way on your way to Burger king for chicken fries and a 687oz Dr. Pepper.



I owe a special thanks to a good friend for the genius advice of shredding vegetables up beyond recognition and hiding them in foods.


Let's see you pick that shit out now!


Eat up my little precious, eat up.