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|
|No, at this particular moment, he wasn't adorable.|
|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):
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:
And oh what the hell, I might as well make myself look really good:
And I thought, "This is a blog," because that's the way my warped mind thinks.