“Hey, lets go skiing this weekend,” my hubby said this morning. I stared at him. “Baby…what is my name? Do you know me?” I asked staring at him drolly.
“Oh yeah,” he continued with a laugh. “Skiing probably isn’t good for you because of the cold and the high altitude…”
“Precisely. Let’s go somewhere hot instead. Like an island in the Caribbean.”
Now that is the perfect sickle cell warrior’s vacation. Except I have to worry about flying there and back. Dayum!
