“Honey, our egg keeps rolling out of its crib and I am not convinced our little one is just feisty in personality–I think there may be another issue at hand. Do you think, maybe, the situation could be given some attention before derring-do has our only child somersaulting out the door, into the autumnal abyss?”

“Well, sweetie, let me, unlike our floor, level with you. The other house at which we were looking to raise our fledgling was perfect and not only within our budget, but actually quite a steal; Mr. Beaver is a perfectionist and his houses are well known for their quality and durability. You are the one who though the thatch roof was sub-par even though you were shown how the legget could not make it anymore secure and waterproof. Furthermore, even though I expressed several concerns about this abode, you found yourself enamored by the baldaquin over the nest, so much so that this is now our place to rest.”

“Oh, I see. Hmmm. Thanks for not dissembling your true feelings; your honesty is appreciated. I really do fancy the baldaquin, but, now, I am more concerned about our little one. If, perhaps, you might be able to give Mr. Beaver a call for a quote to fix and, then, put in some extra hours at work to pay his fee, I will give you, my most patient mate, more than a peck: ‘I am sorry. I love you. Thanks for loving me too.'” ; )