I come in from the cold Arctic blast that is January in Ontario, stamping my boots and huffing and making an emphatic “Woo!” to let  all the indoor folk know the state of the whirlwind out there, like all good snow-shovelers do. I pull off ice-encrusted gloves, kick my boots in a corner, gesture meaningfully at the snowy window, and exhale hard at my husband.

Me: I need a ski mask.

Viking: Never.

Me: But… I need one for shoveling snow.

Viking: YOU are never getting a ski mask. Ever. With a capital-N Never.

Me: But look at the pinkness factor of my cheeks.

Viking: Cute.

Me: But it’s COLD out there. Really-really cold. I need a ski mask.

Viking: We’ve been together 17 years. You’ve never needed a ski mask. I am FORCED, with no small amount of dread, to wonder why you need one now.

Me: I got old. My old-lady cheek-al regions are more delicate.

Viking: No.

Me: My old-lady chin might freeze and fall right off.

Viking: No.

Me: You’ll have a chinless wife. You’ll divorce me for some young chick with both her cheeks and an intact chin.

Viking: Wait.  You said the D-word. *dreamy look* Let me enjoy that for a second.

Me: My old-lady fist might punch you right in the ass.

Viking: Good luck with all that. Let me get you the step stool.

Ten minutes later…

Me: Is the credit card still linked to my Amazon account?

Viking: Buying a book?

Me: Yep.

Viking: What’s it about?

Me: *blinkblink* It’s about, uh…an old lady. Who lives in the, um, Arctic. Her chin fell off and her husband left her. And she has to–

Viking: Buy a ski mask on Amazon?

Me: Drat.

Fifteen minutes later….

Me: Goin’ on a Timmies run, want a coffee?

Viking: Sure, thanks.

Me: Okay, so, yeah, I’m gonna take $20 from your wallet for that cuz I’m broke.

Viking (not looking up from his laptop):  A ski mask shouldn’t cost a whole $20…

Me:  It doesn’t, it’s on sale at–oh, drat.

Viking: You suck at ski masks.

Me: I DO NOT!

Viking: You really do. How are you ever going to make your big foray into the criminal underworld?

Me: I’m gonna skip ski masks altogether and go straight to full-on HAZMAT.

Viking: Stealthy.

Me: You don’t know. I’m very small. I could be stealthy in HAZMAT.

Viking: You couldn’t be stealthy wearing an invisibility cloak during a vow of silence.

Half an hour later….

Viking: That’s some bright yarn. What are you crocheting?

Me: Oh, just somethin’ I saw online …

(Author’s note: On a writing note, I am finally finishing up Death Rejoices, the second book in the Marnie Baranuik Files, and plunging directly into the third, tentatively entitled Last Impressions. My new home–even in this -25 degree weather–has been the Old Lakeview Cemetery in Thorold. I find myself driving out there in the evenings alone and just wandering. If I do happen to go missing, probably I bumped into a bigger, weirder nutbar out there and someone should check between the stones for my sad little remains. Hrm, that ended on a gloomy note, jeez. Back to happy, back to happy!)