Marlboro Man had to spend the rest of Thanksgiving weekend…

““Marlboro Man had to spend the rest of Thanksgiving weekend weaning the calves that had been born the previous spring, and since I was clearly feeling better, I no longer had a get-out-of-jail (or sleep-in-till-nine) card to use. He woke me up that Saturday morning by poking my ribs with his index finger. A groan was all I could manage. I pulled the covers over my head. “Time to make the doughnuts,” he said, peeling back the covers. I blinked my eyes. The room was still dark. The world was still dark. It wasn’t time for me to get up yet. “Doughnuts…huh?” I groaned, trying to lie as still as I could so Marlboro Man would forget I was there. “I don’t know how.” “It’s a figure of speech,” he said, lying down next to me. Make the doughnuts? What? Where was I? Who was I? I was disoriented. Confused. “C’mon,” he said. “Come wean calves with me.” I opened my eyes and looked at him. My strapping husband was fully clothed, wearing Wranglers and a lightly starched blue plaid shirt. He was rubbing my slightly chubby belly, something I’d gotten used to in the previous few weeks. He liked touching my belly. “I can’t,” I said, sounding wimpy. “I’m…I’m pregnant.” I was pulling out all the stops. “Yep, I know,” he said, his gentle rub turning back into a poke again. I writhed and wriggled and squealed, then finally relented, getting dressed and heading out the door with my strapping cowboy.””

— Ree Drummond