We have a funny (to us) joke in my family. We tease that at some point we sisters will all participate in a WifeSwap of switching husbands. Whenever we come across a trait that drives us bonkers about our man, inevitably another sister will pipe up with “Well I could certainly use Matt’s expertise in potty training. That will be great during the WifeSwap.”

Either way, I’ll make out well. One of my brother-in-laws brews fresh and delicious Starbucks coffee no fewer than three times daily. The other one matches my adoration for both Robert Plant and Tom Waits, which would be such a beautiful relief from the Sharon Jones and the Daptones disc constantly spinning in the player.

Last weekend, however, Matt and I found the perfect couple to WifeSwap with. The conversation went something like this.

“So I just saw (our landlord’s) wife outside. She’s got dark curly hair.”

“OOO! Sounds right up your alley, Matty. Why don’t you have a hot rendezvous with her… and then ask to lower our rent.”

“Ok.”

“And I’ll try the same with (our landlord). That thick Irish brogue is more than I can handle.”

“Sounds perfect. Operation Rent Overthrow.”

The next couple on MY list for WifeSwap are the BlurboDooce’s. MMMhmm… Jon Armstrong.

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