|Not even close to his handy work|
I make the bed everyday. Once every 6-8 weeks Brock makes the bed. Upon completion of said made bed, he often stands back to admire his work as if he had just painted the Mona Lisa. His quiet reflection on his handy work is usually met with a clearing of the throat that gradually gets louder the longer it goes unnoticed. Once I realize that he has accomplished a feat known to few, I immediately shower praises upon him with the same ferocity that I would had he just rushed me out of burning building or discovered a cure for cancer or invented the first ever stylish fanny pack. Yesterday he made the bed.........
Me: Hey, thanks for making the bed.
Brock: No big deal, its what a bring to the table.
Me: Making the bed is what you bring to the table?
Brock: Yes, along with other things.
Me: Such as...
Brock: Good conversation.
Brock: Aggressive hugging.
Me: Well, I'm one lucky lady.
Brock: You got that right.
He's been threatening to cook and/or do the dishes, to be safe I'm going to go ahead and submit his application for Sainthood.