Bonnie and Clyde

Sydney got back from France yesterday and brought back a jar of honey, which is so good that I moved it downstairs so that I wouldn't eat it with a spoon after I finished eating it on toast this morning. (It helps that the crew is still ripping apart my bathroom downstairs and has spilled into my kitchen, and I've stayed upstairs because I feel self-conscious stepping over their pickaxes and dynamite to get anything, especially since they've been working since 8:30 and I'm still in my pajamas.) Between the honey and the box of Cap'n Crunch I brought back, it turns out that we both show affection through food trafficking.

It should maybe worry me that some people romanticize the idea of power couples who kick ass in their respective professions, and that I romanticize the idea of power couples who have a knack for smuggling. (This is nothing new, this is why I think a certain grandmother who occasionally smuggles spices into the United States in her bra is a modern-day Profile in Courage.)