It’s been… however many months since a dozen fancy cupcakes saved me from a tropological death.
You’ve probably forgotten all about certain promises, but I have not. Because I’m… you know. Husband, on the other hand, doesn’t know me at all.
Husband was late for work the other day; he’d somehow managed to leave the headlights on and of course the battery went dead and he had to wait for roadside assistance.
You wouldn’t know this, because you don’t live with us, but one of Husband’s favorite things to do with a joke is kill it.
Our latest running bit, for those who keep track of such things, is “I believe in you!”
Allow me to explain. Fair warning: this isn’t one of those stories that casts me in a flattering light.
Have you ever read these conversations and wondered which of us is more difficult to live with?
Of course you have.
As we have recently demonstrated, Husband does not have magic time-telling powers.
He claims he does, but that’s because he’s a bullshitter. He’s such a dedicated bullshitter I’d be afraid to take him to a rodeo, for fear he’d actually climb on top of a bull and poo on it.
Yes, I’m still mad.
I want a divorce.