How HIM Shouldn't Be Allowed Out of His Hole First Thing in the Morning On Sundays OR How Fat Woman Shouldn't Be Allowed Out of Her Hole First Thing on Sunday Mornings

It was a Sunday morning.  We'd crawled out of bed at approximately 7:30 am and that was only because our daughter Cressy had 'slept in.'  Hah.  We're lucky she's not getting up at 4:30 am anymore.  (She did, you know, and believe me, getting up with a three year old who likes to get up at 4:30 am is not fun.)

After I had made breakfast for Cressy, washed the dishes, cleaned up the kitchen and gotten the dirty clothes sorted for washing, HIM had made himself coffee, taken a shower, read a little on his Kindle, and gotten around to asking if I were going grocery shopping.  If I was could I please not forget the beer, wine, diet-coke, and Cheezits.

Here was my expression at that request.  But first a little background information.  We had gone out the night before.  Cressy had a pizza party.  We went to Red Lobster where HIM plied me with one Long Island Iced Tea.  (It was enough judging by the amount of alcohol in one of those suckers.)  There were copious amounts of teenagers dressed in formal length dresses and a few of them in suits.  (It was Prom, in case anyone doesn't get it and some of the girls were clearly confused about whether they were going to Prom or out to the Las Vegas strip.)  (HIM wouldn't let me take a photo for the blog because he didn't think the teenagers would like it.  I was tipsy enough from the single Long Island Iced Tea not to care overly whether they liked it or not, but I bowed to his sober knowledge.)  We had stayed up late.  Cressy had stayed up late.  Then contrarily she had gotten up at her regular time.  I didn't have a caffeine injection automatically shot into my arm.  I was somewhat groggy.  I was in a mood.  Consequently, I should have been locked in a nearby convenient closet for the duration of the day.  But I wasn't.

Fat Woman On the Edge

Despite all of the warnings, HIM looked at me like a puppy dog expecting to be rewarded.  HIM, you must understand, was happy that he had remembered to put actual items on the grocery list.  Excuse me, The Grocery List.  No, I guess it would be THE GROCERY LIST.  (Words actually spoken by Fat Woman to HIM, usually in a snarky fashion: "Can't buy it if it's not on the list."  "Can't read your mind."  "I would have bought it if it had been on the @#$%^!! list."  Wow, I sound incredibly bitchy.)

No, at this particular moment, he wasn't adorable.

So was I thinking, 'Goodness Gracious Googly Woogly, I should be grateful that HIM remembered to remind me that he would like me to NOT FORGET to purchase beer, wine, Cheezits, and Diet Coke on my next shopping extravaganza.'?  No, I was not thinking that.  Also I was not thinking that all those snarky statements had finally borne fruit.  "See, I remembered to add it to the list BEFORE the list was compiled and you went shopping," HIM might say in a cheerful and pert manner denoting his utter adorability.  (Hey, I think I made up another word.)  HIM might even run outside, pound his chest in a manly fashion and yell it to the neighbors, "I HAVE REMEMBERED BEFORE SHE GOES SHOPPING!  I AM COMPLETE!  HALLELUJAH!"

Okay, does HIM deserve a medal?

But here's the thing.  (There's always a thing.)  HIM hadn't remembered to take two steps to my left and especially hadn't remembered to reach out to the little notepad that is my combined list/things-to-do-JOURNAL-of-DOOM (It rules my life.  HIM will probably bury it with me.) which was a maximum of three feet away from where he was blithely reminding me to not to forget his stuff for his benefit.  HIM didn't unclip the pen that is on the spiral part of the notepad and he didn't find the last list in the pad, and HIM most certainly DID NOT write the four fucking items down for himself.  NO. Nopity.  Nope.  Nopus mopus.

HIM asked me not to forget the beer, wine, Cheezits, and Diet Coke.  (You can probably appreciate at this point of the story that I might have been right to be locked in a hole and be fed through a slot until I came to my senses.  Alas we don't have an oubliette and our closets are pretty much full of other crap.)

So instead of ripping HIM's throat out with my bare teeth, I calmly picked up the notepad myself and wrote this, while HIM watched in a state of dawning horror, and made sure I multiple-underlined each and every most important item for HIM.  (It's possible HIM was frozen in terror because there was a set of very sharp knives not five feet away from the place I was standing):

I did not want to underestimate the importance of how HIM wanted me to remember the bleep-bleep-bleeping BEER, the bleep-bleep-bleeeeeeeeeeeep WINE, the bleep-bleepity-bleep DIET COKE & the bleeping bleep bleepious Cheezits.  (No, you don't need to point out that I misspelled Cheezits on the list.  I would understand the list and get the right item no matter how it was spelled.)  And btw, the itsy bitsy, teenie-weenie items on the list were for insignificant little ol' me and insignificant little ol' Cressy.  Tea bags, Cheetos, toothpaste, and pink lemonade.

Oops.  Streaking off on an almost unrelated tangent.  Looking over the above leads me to think that the list sounds like it's the list of a family, shall we say, who is unconcerned with health and appearances.  Let me go back and amend my list.  Yeah, yeah, this is the real list:

Right, so not only did I diss HIM, but I took care of the 'good' things that I needed to do.

And oh what the hell, I might as well make myself look really good:

Anyway, when I was done with my melodramatic effect on the list HIM laughed and went in the living room to drink some more coffee, probably because we've been married so damn long and HIM knew I wasn't in a homicidal mood.  Lucky bastard.

And I thought, "This is a blog," because that's the way my warped mind thinks.