“I feel a blog coming on,” I said to my husband.

He groaned.  “What bone-headed thing did I do now?”

“What makes you think it has anything to do with you?” I asked.

“It always has something to do with me.”

“Not always.  Just last week I wrote about Darion.”

“Well, I have to say he provides plenty of fodder for the blog,” he admitted.

“And the week before that I wrote about the loud-mouth at the football game.”

“But still, you write a lot about me,” he said.

“Aren’t you being just the least bit paranoid?”

“No.  You’re not going to write that I’m paranoid, are you?”

“Believe it or not, everything is not about you,” I told him.  “Doesn’t that seem a little egotistical?”

“No.  You’re not going to write about my ego, are you?”

I shook my head.  “I don’t understand why you are getting so worked up.  You’d think I was going to bring up the Reuben sandwich incident again.”

“You’re never going to let me live that down, are you?”

“Probably not.  That story is just too great to let die.  But no, I’m not going to write about the Reuben sandwich incident again.  I’ve already done that.  Besides, I think everyone who knows us has heard the story.”

“What about the way I misplace everything and spend hours looking for stuff?”

“No, but that is a thought.  I still haven’t found my second set of car keys you swore you didn’t have.”

He groaned.  “I know what it is.  You’re going to write about the fact that I can remember every place I have ever stopped for gas in the last forty years.”

“I wasn’t going to, but now that you mention it … ”

His eyes grew wide. “Are you going to write about the time I left you sitting alone at my twentieth high school reunion while I talked with old friends?  How many times do I have to say I’m sorry?”

A spate of angry emotions from the past bubbled to the surface. “Just because I forgave you doesn’t mean I’ve forgotten.  I almost died of thirst because I didn’t have any money with me to buy a drink.  And I got stuck the whole evening talking to the obnoxious husband of the girl you had a crush on in high school,”  I reminded him, just in case he had forgotten any of my grievances of that night.

“Yes, I know.  Are you ever going to let that episode drop?  After all it was twenty-five years ago!”

I considered for a moment.  “Probably not.  I’m still upset about it. There’s a good possibility I’ll remind you of it on your death bed—or mine, whichever comes first.”  I shot him a smug smile.  “But let me give some advice.  If I go first, and you happen to remarry and take your next wife to your high school class reunion, don’t leave her sitting by herself at a table with people she doesn’t know while you make the rounds.”

“Believe me, I will never make that mistake again.”  He took a deep breath.  “So, may I ask what your next blog is going to be about?”

I blinked.  “Hhmm. You side-tracked me with your ungrounded suspicions and I forgot.  Guess I’ll have to write something about you after all.”

He nodded with grim acceptance. “I’m glad I provide material for you.”