My husband detests my secret admirer

Someone left a bouquet of white flowers for me.

The posies smelled like forbidden love and clandestine meetings.

I took a long sniff and erupted into a coughing fit. Heavy footsteps approached.

Uh, oh. My husband.

I didn’t want any trouble, so I stuffed the bouquet into the garbage.

My husband stalked into the kitchen and gave me a passionate kiss.

The kids muttered, “Ewww.” I squirmed out of my beloved’s torrid embrace.

It was time for me to whip up a gourmet breakfast. Steak and eggs, maybe. Or waffles.

My husband pointed to our spotless kitchen floor. “What’s this?”

A single white rose petal curled by his shiny Italian loafers.

I offered a logical explanation for the rose petal. “Oh, look. A butterfly’s wing.”

My husband’s blue eyes narrowed. “It’s him again, isn’t it? He sent you flowers.”

“Yep. The flowers are for my 30th birthday.” It was a horrible lie. My 30th birthday was years ago.

My husband made a terrifying growling noise.

Hair sprouted from his face and his nails began to grow.

His shirt ripped, exposing a muscled torso. He was turning into a Werewolf. Again.

To prevent a bloody rampage, I admitted the truth.

“It’s not exactly my 30th birthday, but my brother did send the flowers.”

My husband stopped growling. His fangs shortened. Catastrophe was averted.

He frowned. ”So, if you’re not thirty…how old are you?”

My lip curled into a snarl. “I’m thirty-one.”

“Huh. You don’t look a day over twenty.”

And that, my friends, is the secret to a happy marriage.

Please share your secrets for maintaining a happy relationship…