I stumble out of the restroom, dressed only in a towel. Holding my arms out and shuffling like a zombie, I use my best Vincent Price voice to intone, "It... might... be... ALIVE!"
Hubby flips through a dozen channels a second, eyes glued to the screen. "Might be. Define 'alive'."
"Gee, thanks," I grumble. "True love at its finest."
"Hey, I not only agreed with you, I took your meaning an iteration higher, from speculation to an attempt to verify its validity," he points out. "There's bacon on the stove, too."
My heart swells with the purest joy. "Seventeen years later, you're still the best husband a gal could want, by God!"