Hot Cross Buns

Today's post is brought to you by the antics of my husband.  You see, I am not the only prankster in town (reference H2Oh-no-you-didn't), and I feel that it is only fair that I illustrate his capability of being mischievous ( <----I just had to google search the correct spelling of that.  It still looks wrong...)  Leonard and I are kind of opposites when it comes to pulling a fast one on one another.  I toss around frosty beverages into the shower, and he turns up the bun warmers in the car so I think that I either a) peed my pants, or b) am having a hot flash.  Oh that trickster.  He manages to put that baby on high when I'm not looking, so that ten minutes into the car ride I'm suddenly sweating bullets, and my badunkadunk feels like it's on fire.  Just as I'm about to hang my head out of the window like a labrador, it dawns on me that the husband has pushed the magic seat warmer button, and now we don't need to make a pit stop to Target to buy estrogen supplements.  You would think that after the first twelve times of him doing this in the middle of the summer, that I would eventually catch on.  But no.  I don't.  And he keeps on pushing the bun toaster buttons when I'm not looking.  So if you are ever the lucky passenger in the Sharpe Mobile, and the Lenster is behind the wheel, try not having a panic attack when you think that you are going to spontaneously combust.  He just cranked the heat seat to high.  Just levitate your rear end off the seat for a solid ten minutes, and then it should be cool enough to sit down once again.  And then when he's glancing off to the side, just click his bun warmer to a solid three.  All is fair in love and bun warmer war. :)