My husband is adorable.

This is how my morning started.

Husband: "I had the worst dream ever last night."

Me, concern: "Oh, really? I'm sorry baby. Tell me about it."

Husband: "Well I was taking you to go get snow cones..."

Pause. Ok, so right here I'm thinking "well that's a cute way for a nightmare to start" but I'm also thinking of all the terrible things that are probably about to come. Like we get in a horrible car accident on the way and one of us dies. Or when we get there the place is being held up and one of us is held at gunpoint. Or there's a murderer on the loose who happens to be hiding at the snow cone place. He killed the vendor and is now putting razor blades in everyones shaved ice. If it were my bad dream (which I have often; actually, more than often) it would have included any one of these things, or worse. It would have been horribly graphic and likely would have involved middle-of-the-night screaming and crying and thrashing on my part.

But it wasn't my nightmare. It was my dear, sweet husband's. Ok, continue:

"I was taking you to get snow cones and when we got there, the guy, the snow cone guy, the f***ing snow cone representative was trying to charge me $23 a piece for a damn snow cone. He looked like Santa, this guy was so fat and jolly. 23 dollars! So I tried to haggle with him but he swore it was worth it. I tried the snow cone. It was just a frickin' snow cone, and I told him that. So he said ok and asked me how much it was worth. I told hime $3 would be an expensive snow cone. He said I could pay six. Six f***ing dollars for a snow cone! Unbelievable."

Yes, I used his own language in this re-cap. That damn Santa like snow cone representative.

While I'm having nightmares about the most gruesome things you could ever come up with my dear, sweet, endlessly frugal husband is dreaming about being overcharged for shaved ice and syrup.

I love that boy.