Shut The Front Door!

Shut the front door.  No.  Literally.  Shut the front door.  I cannot risk the future state of my marriage if you do not. 

Wednesday evening.  Husband arrives home.

Me:  "Hi Honey!!!!"  (I just love it when he gives me an eyeroll for being overly enthusiastic when he strolls through the door.)
Travis:  "Man it feels warm in here."

Without passing go, he heads straight for the thermostat.  No, "Hi honey, how was your day?  Did B eat his carrots?  Did Goozer have a poopy?  How did Teeny nap?"

Hubby:  "I knew it. 71 degrees."  He walks back into the room with a smug look on his face.

Me:  "We usually set it at 70, babe." (I don't really call him babe.  It just sounded cuter than Trav.)

Hubby:  "Well, every little bit helps, Lisa."

I think I married my dad.