D-I-V-O-R-C-E and C-R-A-F-T

DH and I regular joke about who would run off with whom and who would get what in a divorce settlement. (Typically, it involves me with the pool boy, Pedro, and John with and the housekeeper, Babette. . .)

While driving around in John's little toy, we were recently joking about John running off with a barely 18 yo high school intern from a particularly affluent neighborhood in town. They bonded over the rare opportunity to sit in and turn on a Bugatti at the local Rolls Royce dealership. (Retail price $1.4MM -- there were nickle millionaires standing behind velvet ropes, watching in deep envy as one of the Town's Finest and a pony-tailed teen got to actually TOUCH it).

So this conversation progresses a bit, when John reminds me that if we divorce, he gets "half of everything [I] make." Thing 2 chimes in with, "If you get half of everything Mommy makes, then you get half of my Jackalope sweater, half of the hat she's knitting, half of . . . ."

Half of everything I make won't fit in the trunk of the Bugatti.