After noticing the two side effects of my condition--one being I am losing brain cells at a rapid pace now and can't remember my own name most of the time--and second, my new habit, nay obsession with cooking, Sean asked if I was nesting.
"Only in the kitchen so don't expect any miracles in the rest of the house," I answered over a saucepan of Bernaise sauce.
"Don't get me wrong, I am certainly not complaining," he said, shoveling a forkful of rosemary (yes, but I planted a ton of other herbs a couple of weeks ago in the courtyard) and garlic roasted potatoes in his mouth.
"So you won't care if I am stupid as long as I am stupid over a pan of asparagus tips?"
His non-answer was my answer.