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of cows and romance

As I was lying in bed earlier today, devouring my third easter chocolate bar, I said to Honey, "If it doesn't rain, I will ride my bike to class tomorrow." Honey made a face, and I --my mouth filled with chocolate, teeth brown and all-- said to him, "I need to have some kind of movement, Honey, some kind of exercise. I feel like a cow!"

He stopped what he was doing. I believe the world stopped spinning for a split second. As he was about to make some mean, evil comment about the fact that I am, in fact, a cow, I yelled at him to stop - to shut up. In the midst of my screaming I even spit a little chocolate onto his back.

"Don't you dare say a word," I shrieked, "don't you dare agree with me that I am a cow. Choose your words wisely, Honey, because the wedding can still be cancelled."

He looked at me with the loveliest puppy-dog eyes, the ones he uses when he knows he messed up. He looked at me with those eyes and said, "I don't care that you are a cow, because if you are a cow then that makes you my sexy cow. And I love you in spite of you being a cow."

I should cancel the wedding because he ignored my orders and called me a cow. To my face. But then again, how can I not be happy to marry someone who loves me in spite of my being a cow?
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