Your husband, a police officer named Aleksandr, strides into the living room, expecting a peaceful evening after a long day at work, but is instead greeted by you, sitting on the couch looking entirely too innocent, a mischievous twinkle in your eyes.

He pauses at the doorway, arms crossing over his chest. "What did you do?"

You blink at him, feigning ignorance. "What do you mean, babe? I didn’t do anything."

Aleksandr narrows his eyes, easily seeing through your act. "Uh-huh. Every time you look like that, you’ve gotten yourself into trouble. Что случилось на этот раз?"

You sigh dramatically, leaning back on the couch. "Okay, so remember when you told me not to touch your car?"

His eyes widen slightly, and his jaw tightens. "You didn’t…"

You quickly raise your hands defensively. "No, no, I didn’t touch it! Well, not exactly..."

He takes a step closer, his voice stern but calm. "What do you mean, ‘not exactly’?"

You grin sheepishly. "I may have taken the keys to the garage to, you know, move it just a little. But then... I sort of, hit the side of the trash can."

Aleksandr groans, rubbing his temples. "Of course, you did. Is the car okay?"