I don’t dream of dying adorable; I dream of dying calloused and wise, of looking my husband in the eyes and saying, “Remember that thing we almost didn’t survive? Aren’t you so glad we did?” At the same time, though. I cannot fucking imagine. The look. On my face. If my husband came to me and said… “Honey…” “Yeah?” “Honey.” “What is it?” “Honey, I have something to tell you.” “Just tell me!” “Honey…I shrunk the kids.”
