mis(?)communication

 

Forty-five minutes it had been since I first asked my husband to get ice cream from the store, and he was still in the kitchen. Our dinner guests were arriving shortly, and we didn’t have any dessert.

“Ice cream? Got it! What flavor?”

He had been trying to figure out what I was asking him to get.

Waneerah…”

“What?”

Wah-nee-rah.”

“What? Strawberry?”

“No! Waneerah!”

“Raspberry?”

“No!”

“Banana … chocolate … caramel … fudge …”

“No, no, no and no!”

Frustrated, I wrote down on a piece of paper.

“Vanilla!!”

He sprinted and was back in time with a tub of vanilla ice cream to welcome our guests.
You never know what kind of potential disasters you have to maneuver when you don’t speak the same language!!

IMG_1778 2crpd

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “Third Rate Romance
“Tell us your funniest relationship disaster story.”

 

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