Then I was all "?!" and he was all "!!!"

Can I just take a moment and say, Screw you, Blogger!

And also? Wait, come back, I didn't mean it, I love you, you wonderful free-of-charge service!

Gah. The "please republish your blog in 10 minutes" message nearly caused a fit of epic proportions yesterday.


Specific line from my dream last night: "Bless the camel for understanding the phases of the moon." You don't want to know. Trust me. I will say that, probably due to the miles and miles of dream wandering through endless desert last night, I can barely keep my head up today.


This has been a week to which I will be happy to give the boot. Monk and I really pushed ourselves too hard last weekend to complete some of the house projects, which left us too tired and cranky to deal with the new work week and more stress stress stress. His practice days were switched, then cancelled, then rescheduled, then cut in half, which left him at my disposal for more of the week than I had (wanted) planned for. Consequently, this left me wanting to dispose of him. Especially Tuesday evening.

(oh my christ, it was so ridiculous that I don't even want to go public with the episode, but I can't seem to keep my fingers from typing out the story. This, people, is what Married Life is all about, which you may now read about and become very, very jealous:)

Tuesday evening Monk declared his dinner RUINED because we (gasp!) did not have as many vegetables to put next to the salmon as he had envisioned. He refused to make anything else to go with the meal, and decided, in fact, that he would not have ANY vegetables with his salmon fillet, because THAT would show his dinner! And growling stomach! And wife!

I tried to help out with offerings of bread, or rice or he could have my portion of vegetables (please sir, whatever you'd prefer, sir), but he would not be appeased. It was BARELY ENOUGH FOR ONE PERSON (he yelled, under his breath) and clearly we were in crisis mode.

(yelling under one's breath is that fancy move your mother may have executed during your childhood, (or it's a move you've witnessed by the boss at work, or your sister last Christmas, etc.) where you leave the room, thinking the argument's over, and then you catch the muttering of what is most likely a scathing comment flying out, just before you are out of earshot, but clearly meant to be heard, so you try to confront the woman, and she acts like she was talking to herself. What? Am I the only one who knows about this move?)

Instead of yelling "Shut UP! This was not supposed to be Angry Night! ANGRY NIGHT WAS SUNDAY NIGHT!" I tried to restore calm by asking if it was necessary to react this way, to something that could be so easily resolved.

(Um. I may have raised my voice a little. But in my defense, part of it came from the shock at finding out I was living with the one man on the planet for which the size of a helping of broccoli makes or breaks the entire dining experience.)

So. I may have started to ask what the big deal is, but maybe also wanted to call him... something, so I may have let the first part of a (very reasonable!) question fly out before snapping my trap shut to lock in the (accurate, at the moment) name that was attached to it:

"Okay, but why do you have to be such a whiney little b-.......mmmf??????"

He informed me that I could call him a whiney little bitch, because WHATEVER (or something like that. At this point I was dizzy from awe at the mountain of whatthefuck that had formed in our kitchen).

Later, when I thought things had calmed down, I clarifed that I hadn't been about to call him a bitch. I was going to call him a baby.

That didn't help.

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