Time For A Trade

What with the aches and pains, the overall kvetchiness meter on high, last night, upon his arrival home from the Network Promo Factory, I handed longtime hubby a Victoria Secret catalogue that landed in the mailbox like a bitch slap to the keppy. "Here," I said, "knock yourself out." "Where'd that come from?" "The Land of Cruelty. Take a look." "I shouldn't." "I insist." "Is there something in here you want?" "No. But there's probably someone in there you'd like." "What do you mean?" "It's time to pick out new." He reached over to give me a hug. "I don't want new." "Careful. I'm covered in calamine lotion." "I can take it." "Don't you want to trade me in for a new model, a gal with long legs, lustrous hair and nice lacy lingerie?" "I like the old model." "Oh, honey, every now and then, you say the right thing." "I've been practicing."