“What’s this folder on the table?” Hubby asked.

“It’s for Word Weavers. I have to lead the meeting next week,” I said.

You have to lead the meeting?” His eyebrows rose in surprise. “Why?”

“I’m the vice-president. The president is not going to be there.”

You’re the vice president?” He couldn’t have looked more skeptical if I’d said I was vice-president of the United States.

“Yes. Why?” His attitude was starting to hurt my feelings.

He laughed. “What did you do? Go to the restroom when they held the election?”

I bristled. “Why would you think that?”

“Well, because that’s how most club officers get elected. They go to the bathroom and everyone elects them before they can get back and protest.”

I flattened my lips. “For your information, I campaigned hard and beat out three other candidates for this position.”

“Really?” He finally looked impressed.

“No, not really,” I admitted. “I was asked, and I was probably the only one to say yes. I was assured that as vice-president, I wouldn’t actually have to do anything. You know, kind of like the vice-president of the United States.”

“Hah! And now you have to run the meeting?” He smirked.

“I think I can handle it. Not that many people are coming. They probably heard I was in charge and decided to skip this month.”

“What do you have to do?” he asked.

“Basically, make sure everyone stays within their time limit for speaking and critiquing.”

“That doesn’t sound too hard,” he said.

“That’s what you think. We are talking about a group of writers—words are their passion. Writers can be long-winded when given a chance to get their pent-up words out. Kind of like preachers.” I gave Preacher Hubby “the eye.”

“You’re changing the subject,” he said, clearly not amused. “So how do you cut them off when they get long-winded, as opposed to me, when you make a slashing motion across your throat when you think I need to stop preaching?”

“We time them. Someone sets a timer on their phone and the speaker has to stop when the alarm goes off.”

“What if they won’t stop talking?” he asked.

“It depends on who’s leading the meeting. Some leaders are strict adherents to the three-minute rule. Others let people get away with running off at the mouth.”

“Well, be careful. You don’t want to get anyone mad at you for being too heavy-handed. Otherwise, you may not have a shot at ever being president.”

With realizing it, Hubby had just given me a brilliant idea that didn’t even involve being afraid to go to the restroom.