Yesterday I found myself sitting in a training and becoming very warm (unusual for a generally chilly gal like myself). In fact, my skin started burning all over my face, neck, inside my ears, and down my neck and chest. I recognized the allergic reaction immediately and ran to the front desk to see if anyone had any benedryll on them. As I'm waiting for the man to find me some relief, I begin ripping off layers of clothing in an attempt to cool down, and by the time he returned, I couldn't help myself... I took 3 full benedryll. Fast Forward 2.5 hours.... I'm sitting at my computer waiting to eat dinner with my man before going to another viewing, when the benedryll hits me (talk about a delayed reaction) and I literally feel as though I can't hold my head up... my eyes glazed over and I could barely control my body movements.
My husband, knowing that I'm near a comatose state, feels the need to (whinely) call me to the kitchen where I find him standing over the crock pot of roast and yams, staring at it. "I need help," he says. It looked as though he was doing a perfectly fine job of staring down the dinner on his own, so I had no idea what he could possibly need me for. "How do I get it out?" It's important to keep in mind that my husband spends the better part of each evening cutting trees down with chainsaws, dragging said trees through the woods and down a precariously bumpy hill, chopping the trees into logs with a huge axe before shoving them into a blazing fire... THIS is the man that looks at me from above our little crock pot and asks for help to pull out a piece of meat. So I tell him to use a knife to cut a chunk off and put it on his plate. The man pulls out a butter knife. I'M NOT KIDDING. If it weren't for the benedryll, I probably would have yelled at him for allowing my kitchen to see such idiocy. He uses the fork and butter knife to hack into the meat, trying to pull it apart... it looked as awkward as any creature WITHOUT thumbs trying to use utensils. THIS is my husband, ladies and gentlemen.
Liar. If you weren't so messed up you would remember that what I asked for help with was what to put on the yams, not for help getting them out. My wife is a liar and...the other morning I thought I heard her call for me from the upstairs. I dutifully responded "yes, dear" which confused her. She then explained that she hadn't called for me, she had farted loud enough that I heard it on another floor, across the house (and we have a big house). Take that woman. Haha!
ReplyDeleteFine! I admit it! I had a loud fart. But you DID ask for help getting that roast out... it was only after that you asked how to eat the yams, which I graciously didn't put into this blog so you didn't have to feel anymore humiliation, but after your "liar" comment, I'm feeling a lot more forthcoming, Costa!
ReplyDeleteAll I can say is you two have the most peculiar relationship.....Hope its as entertaining not only to everyone but to the two of you after 10 yrs of marriage or more. Ha ha.
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