I'm standing in the kitchen this morning, huffing and puffing, having gotten up early and dug another row in the garden (Florence fennel and leeks, for those of you keeping track at home). I pour myself a glass of water and chug it, letting it spill over my chin.
The s.o. emerges from the bathroom in his robe, yawning. He fixes his eyes on me, smiles sweetly, and says:
"You got dribble on your tittie."