Sometimes I really hate my husband. Take yesterday, for instance. To make a long story short (and to make me out as the hero) a few months ago we received a notice from our mortgage lender that we were late on a payment. I know, snore, blah, E.F. Hutton, that's exactly what I said. I called and squared it away only to receive yet another notice. And then another. A few trips down to the bank and more blah blah Charlie Brown adult voices and I thought it was resolved only to receive a final notice that we had been reported to a credit agency. Blah blah but wait! There's more! Soon I will huck my cell phone across the room in this story and it shatters in two! Not the story but my phone! So yesterday morning my husband is throwing a manly man conniption fit that we will never be able to refinance our house, buy a new car, a sailboat, a motorcycle for Zoey, that our credit will be ruined. Ruined! Ruined, he tells me! And then he obtusely infers that it is my fault by point blank saying this is all your fault and here is the point in the story when I throw my cell phone and yell at him for not unloading the dishwasher the night before because obviously the dishwasher is IN the house and thus part of the fight, for stacking his papers on the kitchen table, for never making dinner, for only changing one poopy diaper for every 417 that I have ever changed and for beer farts, his and those of all mankind.
And then he goes and does something like this:
And the man's shit? So long as he is wearing a head full of flower barrettes and letting Zoey hack away at his head with a plastic hairbrush, that other shit? It. Does. Not. Stink. p.s. While on the phone with the bank (who is TOTALLY in the wrong, BTW) I maybe might have lied a little bit and said my brother is a segment producer with KCBS and looking for human interest stories regarding the mortgage crisis. Then I paused with the phone to my ear and thought touché motherfuckers, tooshay! But the bank totally called my bluff and said go right ahead and air it, bitch, we've got you by the short and curlies except maybe she left out the bit about the pubic hair because financial institutions almost always deny existence of the nether region. And of course my brother is not a segment producer for the local news but a commercial director so please, if anyone out there just so happens to be a producer for KCBS (or other! KTVU? Anyone? Anyone? Fox? I'd even do Fox!) and would like to pretend I'm your sister then email me and together we will take them down. Silkwood of the Menses, people! Keepin' it real!