“Your butter dish is great,” Mike said as he helped me carry the dishes from the table to the dishwasher.
“I know!” I said, surprised that he would notice such a detail. “I’ve been looking for one for a long time, but I just couldn’t find one that I liked.”
“It was worth the wait to get this one,” he said.
“It really was.” My wife heart twirled inside of me as I embraced this time of bonding over the unlikely household item. I deliberated explaining to him the many shops I had visited in vain search of the elusive butter dish and how I was undecided if I should buy a black one or a white one. Surprised he was interested at all, I settled on keeping it short and simple. “I think it’s perfect.”
“And hilarious,” he said, shutting the dishwasher and pushing the start button.
“Hilarious?” I asked, confused.
“Yeah,” he said as he pointed to the dish which happened to be at an angle I had not previously seen.
“Oh,” I said in a small voice.
“It says ‘butt’ on the top,” he laughed.
“Yes,” I sighed. “I see that.”
“It’s a butt dish!”
It really is.