I am digging through photos trying to find something to write about. It isn’t going well.

Jason, the husband, is here to interrupt my quandary. “Are you writing about the adventures of Papa J and Danger Dog? We solve crime, we bring the justice. We control the streets for the HOA in the wee hours of the night.”

In this instance, he is Papa J. The dog is Danger Dog. This is an ongoing joke about adventures they take in his white Ford Transit, which he lovingly refers to as “Race Van”.

He’s now by the bed, staring at me. “Would you like me to quit writing?” I say.

“No. Use this, babe. Use it.” I start to type while his antics continue.

He is lamenting how unsafe it is to go to Golden Corral, which has just reopened down the road. Terribly unsafe, I agree, during a pandemic.

I tell him how I got Margot (i.e. Danger Dog) to wear a little red Christmas hat and am training her to tolerate this. He says it’s unsafe to train the dog to wear a cute hat. “It’s like that fish with the flashlight on his head. It looks welcoming, but then it eats you.”

He says he wants a cooler name than “Papa J” but it’s too late, I say. “You’re in the books as Papa J.”

There is so much of my life I have not written, and is gone forever. Because my memory sucks.

“That’s some of the best stuff you’ve ever written, babe. You’re welcome.”

I am covered by a heavy comforter. Jason frequently likes to pull off my socks, and then throw them at my head.

“Are you wearing socks?” he asks.

“No,” I lie.

“Do you swear to god? Because if I find out you’re lying to me, you’re gonna get it.”

I start to laugh. “Nope, I’m not wearing socks.”

He pulls back the covers, revealing that I am wearing bright red socks.

“Oh that’s it.” He tears off a red sock, grabs my foot and puts my toes between his teeth, growling like a bear. He bites a little. I am crying with laughter.

After a few minutes of this, tears on my face, he tenderly places the sock back on my foot, returns my covers, and leaves me alone.

Sometimes it makes sense why I married this guy.

Now where was I? Oh yeah, what the heck am I gonna write about photography?