Let the record show that, although my husband wrongfully accused me of PMS a few weeks back, he would be correct to accuse me of such things tonight (correct, but not wise). So, knowing full well that my I'm probably going to die of an iron deficiency by the end of the night, I'm not quite sure why my husband RELISHED in trying my patience. Now, I knew I was being a nag. I knew I was being short-fused. But then again, so did he. And yet he continued to do things like... exist. Let me back up to the beginning.
I cooked a beautiful salmon to put over top spinach leaves with pecans, grapes, and raspberry vinegarette. It smelled and looked so beautiful, that even my hateful girl parts couldn't ruin the dinner. But my husband could. "Why didn't you put teryaki sauce on it?" (Him.) "Because teryaki sauce isn't part of our diet." (Me.) "But it looks weird." (Him.) My mouth responded with, "Too bad. It's a diet, suck it up." My mind responded with, "I'm going to carve out your heart and grill it up in teryaki sauce if you don't shut your pie hole!" See how much I showed restraint, even with PMS?
After dinner, my guy decided to make a meatloaf (yes, more meatloaf) so we would have it for lunch tomorrow. I had the recipe written down for him, but he wanted me to stay in the kitchen while he followed it, just to make sure he did it right. As I listened to him criticize my direction-writing abilities, I pictured all the ways that I could poison the meatloaf and make it look like an accident. As I was daydreaming about assassinating my husband, he takes out the measuring spoons, uses them, and then PUTS THEM BACK IN THE DRAWER. He realized his mistake instantly and looked up in time to see my eyes bulge, face redden, and Satan's wrath come pouring out of my snarling mouth. "You NEVER put dirty measuring spoons back in the drawer!!!!!" I yelled as I yanked them out, noting the spices littering the contact paper in my utensil drawer. "Bubba, I just wanted to make sure you were paying attention?" It's not bad enough that I'm bloated, pimply, and leaking like a bad faucet... but now there's pepper in the drawer! (And yes, I DO realize I'm being irrational (slightly).... but don't tell my husband.)
I cooked a beautiful salmon to put over top spinach leaves with pecans, grapes, and raspberry vinegarette. It smelled and looked so beautiful, that even my hateful girl parts couldn't ruin the dinner. But my husband could. "Why didn't you put teryaki sauce on it?" (Him.) "Because teryaki sauce isn't part of our diet." (Me.) "But it looks weird." (Him.) My mouth responded with, "Too bad. It's a diet, suck it up." My mind responded with, "I'm going to carve out your heart and grill it up in teryaki sauce if you don't shut your pie hole!" See how much I showed restraint, even with PMS?
After dinner, my guy decided to make a meatloaf (yes, more meatloaf) so we would have it for lunch tomorrow. I had the recipe written down for him, but he wanted me to stay in the kitchen while he followed it, just to make sure he did it right. As I listened to him criticize my direction-writing abilities, I pictured all the ways that I could poison the meatloaf and make it look like an accident. As I was daydreaming about assassinating my husband, he takes out the measuring spoons, uses them, and then PUTS THEM BACK IN THE DRAWER. He realized his mistake instantly and looked up in time to see my eyes bulge, face redden, and Satan's wrath come pouring out of my snarling mouth. "You NEVER put dirty measuring spoons back in the drawer!!!!!" I yelled as I yanked them out, noting the spices littering the contact paper in my utensil drawer. "Bubba, I just wanted to make sure you were paying attention?" It's not bad enough that I'm bloated, pimply, and leaking like a bad faucet... but now there's pepper in the drawer! (And yes, I DO realize I'm being irrational (slightly).... but don't tell my husband.)
Crybaby. That's all I have to say.
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