Greg.

He’s my husband.

My husband who doesn’t like things to not go smoothly. Let’s just say he’s not spontaneous, and I am, which makes for an interesting combination.

We had hamburgers on the grill last night. I made the patties, he grilled them. Or tried to.

Just as I took a phone call from Griffin’s doctor’s office, confirming an appointment, he opens the patio door and yells…”Plan B! Plan B! I hope you have a Plan B!”

No, but I do have someone on the phone…someone who is now wondering why in the world a man in the background is yelling out Plan B!??? I gave him the look I give my kids when I’m on the phone, as if to say, nothing could be THAT important.

What was Plan B, you say?

Plan B was Greg’s CODE for “the patties are literally falling apart when I flip them, and we need to come up with something else for dinner.”

Of course it is. I knew that.

Now our doctor does too.

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