Brad Mosiman is NOT a mind-reader

My husband is so ridiculously annoying.  He seems to think that he has this great insight into my mind and he doesn't.  He always likes to cite this example to prove that he has the ability to anticipate my thoughts:

Me to Brad:  Guess what I want?
Brad to me:  Popcorn.

Yeah. Whatever. So what? What does it matter that I only eat microwavable popcorn maybe once every six months? This little scenario doesn't mean a thing. Besides, it happened over a decade ago. My mistake was in my initial reaction. "How did you know," I'd asked, incredulous. I was so naively innocent, still in my thirties. It's not like he pulled a rabbit out of a hat or made a quarter magically appear from my right nostril.

He just WILL NOT let it go.  So, a few hours ago, as we were watching television, I casually turn around in my chair to peek out the window. "What are you looking at," Savannah asked, not really caring because a new episode of "The Kardashians" was on.  "She's looking for fireflies," Brad answered. Savannah pulled her eyes away from Bruce Jenner's MRI (he's having hearing problems) long enough to look from her father to me, "Is he right?" I nodded reluctantly;  here we go again.

Thirty minutes later, it was dark enough for my field to start sparkling. I grabbed my "Tinker Bell" blanket and headed outside. "Savannah, we're going to see the fire bugs," Brad yelled, following me with the dogs. "Could you make it sound any less magical," I snapped, "lightning bugs or fire flies. Not fire bugs." Savannah waded into the waist-high weeds with Juno, surrounded by hundreds of fire bugs. She lifted a wiggling Chlo up to see the twinkling field. Our little dog barked excitedly. As the mosquitoes descended, Brad battled for half of my blanket and we enjoyed our little light show.   It was utterly magical.  He's still annoying though and he can't read my mind.