M and I aren’t getting a divorce. We’re not even close. But occasionally, we’ll playfully suggest that if X, then I might have to pack up Lennie and go. It’s a joke. If you know us, don’t worry. So yesterday, M did the usual divorce joke, and Lennie and I worked out a deal that I think may have cinched her decision to go with me instead of with M.

First, we have to start weaning her off the magic boobies that fix any catastrophe, large or small. They’re definitely a must-have for now, and my proposition is essentially null until after the magic boobies are a luxury rather than an essential.

Once we clear that hurdle, we’ve decided to live in candy houses. At any given time, we’ll have six candy houses and a partial. We’ll build seven initially, and they’ll all be in a line, but Lennie will start munching the first as soon as we move in. The next day (I predict that Lennie will have a voracious appetite for candy), we’ll move into the next one in line because Lennie will have reduced the first to a shambles. Meanwhile, we’ll begin building another beyond the last one in the line. The next day, we’ll move into the next one and will build another. The end result, of course, will be that we’ll always have a yummy candy house and will get to travel the country together, but never with any great big single move that would be a hardship on Lennie from the vantage point of making friends, etc.

When I proposed this to her, she grunted and giggled and tried to eat my hand, and all of these things seemed to me to suggest that she dug the idea, so I think we’re a go if the need ever arises.