“DAMN IT!” came a shout from the car.
I smiled.
I went out onto the porch with the most innocent expression in the world.
My husband was getting out of the car doubled over, one hand clutching his stomach as if he were holding a bomb about to explode.
He was running towards the house.
“What did you give me, you crazy woman?!” she yelled. “I can’t make it to the bathroom!”
I put a hand to my chest, feigning concern.
—Love… aren’t you falling in love?
He stopped for a second, pale.
-That?
—They say that when you’re nervous about a date… your body shows it.
—I WON’T MAKE IT!
He tried to run up the stairs.
—Ah —I added gently—. And don’t even think about using the upstairs bathroom.
He froze on the first step.
-Because?
—I’m cleaning it.
What followed was a scene I will never forget.
My husband, the great executive full of “synergy”, climbing the stairs as best he could, with his pride wounded, his stomach in knots… and the “important meeting” clearly cancelled.
The bathroom door slammed shut.
Dramatic noises were heard from inside.
I sighed.
Then I grabbed my cell phone.
I opened the group chat with my friends.
I wrote:
—Girls, is the beer deal still on?
Three seconds later the answers arrived.
—Of course!
