“Can you get a kid to bring the plants inside?” I yelled up to the husband from the back of the yard. He was cleaning the BBQ on the little back porch.
“The weather won’t come this way, it’s already passed us,” Mr. Pilot who knows all the meteorological facts based on his flying career said, gesturing toward the horizon.
I looked up at the sky. Dark grey clouds were precariously close. And, the winds picked up again.
“Never mind, I’ll do it myself,” I muttered under my breath.
25 minutes later I’m inside organizing my flowers, herbs and vegetable plants all around the kitchen island. He comes in and starts fiddling with something in the broom closet.
“It started spitting,” he said.
I stared at him.
He glanced in my direction and said, “what?”
“It finally happened,” I responded.
“What?” he said again.
“I was right and you were wrong.”
He stared at me, then rolled his eyes.
“Say it,” I prompted him. “Tell me I was right and you were wrong.”
He didn’t even hesitate.
“You were right and I was wrong,” he said meekly and went downstairs.