And now for something completely different . . .
How can I bitch on a day like today?
It's a given that work still sucks my ass, and furthermore the kids refused to eat what I'd planned for their lunch (thinking about just leaving them each a supersized bag of chips to last all week, after that they're on their own), my own lunch at a pricey restaurant (not of my choosing) tasted like Palmolive, and that stubborn baby still isn't eating very good (I'm sure the good folks at Enfamil are laughing their rich asses off at how much formula this kidlet wastes). I did manage to derive some sort of sick enjoyment from the fact that my 6 year old and I have managed to convince the 4 y.o. that we'll be biting off his toes, frying them up in the fry-daddy, liberally coating them with season salt and then serving them to the dog. He's been hiding his feet for a day and a half. Yeah, good times.
There I am, meandering through my mediocre day and an email from my dh comes along. I cringe. I employ one of my favored defense mechanisms, that of procrastination, and proceed to ignore it for a good long while. Then, once I decide I'm feeling strong enough, I open it.
What. the. fucking. fuck?
It's just a note to say he loves me.
Excuse me, but who's husband is this, anyway? My husband certainly doesn't do Hallmark quality crap like this. For a moment, I consider that perhaps his work computer has some sort of weird-ass virus. Or maybe someone else is using his email account in some sort of cruel prank.
But no, it's for real.
See, my life's not all bad. Good things can happen. Really.
I'm in such a good mood, maybe I'll just let the 4 y.o. keep his toes intact. Maybe.
It's a given that work still sucks my ass, and furthermore the kids refused to eat what I'd planned for their lunch (thinking about just leaving them each a supersized bag of chips to last all week, after that they're on their own), my own lunch at a pricey restaurant (not of my choosing) tasted like Palmolive, and that stubborn baby still isn't eating very good (I'm sure the good folks at Enfamil are laughing their rich asses off at how much formula this kidlet wastes). I did manage to derive some sort of sick enjoyment from the fact that my 6 year old and I have managed to convince the 4 y.o. that we'll be biting off his toes, frying them up in the fry-daddy, liberally coating them with season salt and then serving them to the dog. He's been hiding his feet for a day and a half. Yeah, good times.
There I am, meandering through my mediocre day and an email from my dh comes along. I cringe. I employ one of my favored defense mechanisms, that of procrastination, and proceed to ignore it for a good long while. Then, once I decide I'm feeling strong enough, I open it.
What. the. fucking. fuck?
It's just a note to say he loves me.
Excuse me, but who's husband is this, anyway? My husband certainly doesn't do Hallmark quality crap like this. For a moment, I consider that perhaps his work computer has some sort of weird-ass virus. Or maybe someone else is using his email account in some sort of cruel prank.
But no, it's for real.
See, my life's not all bad. Good things can happen. Really.
I'm in such a good mood, maybe I'll just let the 4 y.o. keep his toes intact. Maybe.
posted by ~L @ 2:47 PM
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