Being Wifey

Travis has started calling me wifey.
He thinks it's funny.

Because I am opposed to the word Hubby (first of all, it sounds like my husband is a tubby baby who is not very bright, and second of all, shouldn't it be Husby not Hubby?)
I decided that I can call him Hussy.
It makes sense. Husband. Husssband. Hussy.

I've felt very wifey lately, anyway.
I was lying around my house, determined not to do any homework, and I felt this mad desire to first clean my bathroom (which I did, my sparkling toilet, and perfectly draining tub are evident) and then bake cookies for Travis (which were TASTY!) then reorganize my already organized cupboards, then do some mending, which included fixing my sewing machine, which an unnamed roommate broke.
Cleaning, cooking, sewing. Who am I? I love it.

Tonight I am making a pie for FHE, because one of Trav's friends gave him a bushel of apples from the tree in her yard.
Because I still feel like I'm playing house, it's still very fun. I no longer cry when confronted with unwashed dishes (I HATE dishes more than any other household chore), but instead I gladly wash them so when people come over they can see what a good little homemaker I am.

Travis and I have started making married friends, too. Stephanie and Jacob, who we went to church with us, and are going to split the internet, and who lent us a can opener before Travis learned to cut cans with a knife (I am against this can cutting.)
It's fun.
I like being pretend-married.
Soon it will be real.
One month.

p.s. my house is sparkling clean today.
as it is most days.