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The other day I came back from running an errand to find an unfamiliar car in the driveway. I knew we had a guy coming over to give us a quote on a new HVAC system---so no big surprise.
As I parked elsewhere and walked up my path, my husband Mike appeared at the door.
"You can see Bob's here."
"Yep," I said, entering the house. "I pieced that together. I write mysteries for a living, you know."
"I just didn't want you to think I had my mistress here," he said, joking.
I laughed and joked back. "Mistress? I'd hope she had a nicer car than that!"
I said this at the top of my lungs....as I came around the corner to find Bob at our kitchen table staring at me. 
You remember Bob. The guy with the crappy car.
Smooth as always. It's like my superpower.
I slapped a frozen smile on my face while my brain calculated which would be better:
  1. Explain to Bob I'd meant I hoped only a fabulously rich woman tooling around in an Aston Martin or something could steal Mike away from me...or...
  2. Runaway.

Somehow joking about my husband's imaginary rich mistress with someone who maybe didn't even hear Mike's original joke seemed like a minefield, so I pivoted and bolted to the back of the house, never to be seen by Bob again.

But I'm thinking that HVAC quote could have been better...



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