'TIL POST DO YOU PART

. . . then get your own damned blog!

It's what I say to The Husband when he informs me of what he thinks I should have said or what words he thinks I should have employed.

Nu-uh.

My blog. Not yours.

I feel the same way about my yoga. I gots a thing for having shirts made. The chest of drawers near the bed houses a bunch of tank tops I crafted for yoga. One says My mat. My yoga.

My blog. My whatnot.

But, being the good feller that he is, despite the fact that I am not enthusiastic about his contributions, my man still reads my mishmash. Says it helps him know me better; he's into knowing me better. An' bein' my husband and all, 'course he has something to say about what he reads. (Like I'd have married a sir without an opinion.)

Sometimes his sayings are suggestions. Or [fruitless] commands. Like, Make it say 'my cheese done slid off the cracker.'

Get your own damned blog, I tell him.

What if our husbands did have their own blogs of responses to our writings?

Would Rookie Cookie's spouse's blog be Rookie Nookie?

Would Cat's husband have a blog called Tadd with a Tad of Cat?

Would my dad's responses to mom's Hen Pecks be posted on a blog called Hen Pecker? (How I wish I could take credit for making that up. But I can't. 'Cause I didn't.)

Would my husband be the author of ReMarks on Sparks? (Pretend I didn't write that, okay? The Husband on Sparks isn't nearly as witty. Pretend you still don't know his name--or if you already did, pretend that I didn't remind you of it, m'kay? For I shall still refer to him as The Husband.)

Would Rabid's other half write rabidspouse?

Would Bird's husband write on bird on the lawn?

And you, what might your counterpart compose under?