It's the Annual Hubby Bash!
Ok. I am aware that I am picky beyond all comprehension and I'm ok with that. However. How hard is it to do your own dishes? Seriously? How long does that jackass think I want to spend standing in front of the sink? If a person decides to make eighteen batches of cookies then that person should do their own damn dishes. I don't think I should be the one to have to do nine hundred dishes I had no part in dirtying, especially if they weren't ever rinsed out. Don't I have enough to do with all the bottle washing I'm stuck with lately? I. Think. So.
Some of you remember the Peeps rant of a couple of years ago. This time, it's the Mallowmars. How on God's green earth can an average-sized man eat an ENTIRE package of Mallowmars while his tired wife is feeding the baby? HOW?!?! It is beyond human understanding. I stashed those for me! That jerk has more chocolate cravings than a menopausal divorcee. I actually had a moment where my blackened heart hoped they made him sick and the sheer glut of them would cause him to vomit up his toes. Ha! Bet they don't taste so good in reverse, asshat!!
Don't pick on me about sex. You get to sleep through the night. You didn't sqeeze a sqirming seven-plus pound baby out your hoo-hoo. You don't have to struggle to shift gears enough just to fall asleep. So my hormones are somewhat stop-and-go and your score rate is a bit erratic. Get over it. It's your soap and your junk and you can wash for as long and as fast as you like. Keep acting like a sulky first grader and the closest you'll get to this piece of ass is to smooch it right before I kick your teeth in.
FYI, I don't mind doing your laundry. After all, I do everyone else's so why should I care? However. I will henceforth be refraining from unballing sweaty socks. If you put them in the hamper that way that is how you will be getting them back. I don't care if they end up in your dresser drawer moldering and smelling of mildewed detergent, I consider this no longer my problem. If you wake up on a freezing cold morning and only have damp socks to wear, try not to wake me. That way you won't be offended when I point and laugh at you.
*This is merely an unburdening of sorts. I love my hubby, think he is well nigh perfect, but he occasionally pisses me off. This is how I vent so I can talk to him in a normal voice without using the F-word too many times. If he shines me on, however, he may just get this word-for-word.
Some of you remember the Peeps rant of a couple of years ago. This time, it's the Mallowmars. How on God's green earth can an average-sized man eat an ENTIRE package of Mallowmars while his tired wife is feeding the baby? HOW?!?! It is beyond human understanding. I stashed those for me! That jerk has more chocolate cravings than a menopausal divorcee. I actually had a moment where my blackened heart hoped they made him sick and the sheer glut of them would cause him to vomit up his toes. Ha! Bet they don't taste so good in reverse, asshat!!
Don't pick on me about sex. You get to sleep through the night. You didn't sqeeze a sqirming seven-plus pound baby out your hoo-hoo. You don't have to struggle to shift gears enough just to fall asleep. So my hormones are somewhat stop-and-go and your score rate is a bit erratic. Get over it. It's your soap and your junk and you can wash for as long and as fast as you like. Keep acting like a sulky first grader and the closest you'll get to this piece of ass is to smooch it right before I kick your teeth in.
FYI, I don't mind doing your laundry. After all, I do everyone else's so why should I care? However. I will henceforth be refraining from unballing sweaty socks. If you put them in the hamper that way that is how you will be getting them back. I don't care if they end up in your dresser drawer moldering and smelling of mildewed detergent, I consider this no longer my problem. If you wake up on a freezing cold morning and only have damp socks to wear, try not to wake me. That way you won't be offended when I point and laugh at you.
*This is merely an unburdening of sorts. I love my hubby, think he is well nigh perfect, but he occasionally pisses me off. This is how I vent so I can talk to him in a normal voice without using the F-word too many times. If he shines me on, however, he may just get this word-for-word.
posted by The Writer at 11:01 PM
2 Comments:
They can't be perfect all the time and every now and then you just have to vent. It's funny though..it seems that eventually it is something that you laugh at together..I am SO buying him a package of malomars for Christmas! Or maybe it should be you I buy them for since he ate all yours!
WHAT? No Christmas post? NO pics of presents? No pics of your new aquarium inhabitants?
Geez.
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