Wrestling with his demon
I'll answer my own question. Pretty lucky. Let's face it, my husband may have gotten the short end of the marital stick last night. It's not like I'm at my hottest, what with the crusty boogers, red nose, and whiney attitude. And while we are talking appearances, I should mention the nasty nursing scrubs I was wearing, my hair hadn't been combed in two days and I wasn't wearing a bra. Amazing how far south two little A's can point. Not such a pretty picture, right dear internet?
Besides my beast-like appearance, my hubs kept slathering on the affection, like the well-trained husband he is. And this morning he proved what a darling he is when he got up to get the kids off to school, all while I lay in bed and whined some more.
I should have figured his patience was running thin when I pointed out the orange juice didn't have any pulp and I specifically asked for pulp. His jaw muscle started to twitch and his left eye started to water. The straw that broke the camel's back was when I sent back the toast my hubs had so kindly prepared for me. Not because I wasn't hungry, but because it was too brown at the edges. (I'll admit to being a cow about this, but who wants to eat burnt toast?)
After scraping my toast, he slammed down my plate and informed me he had somewhere to be. With a quick kiss to the top of my head, he scurried off like the rat he is. Leaving me to drag my ass off the couch to get my own water. Bastard. But as he left I swear I heard him muttering unkind words about me.
So if you see the crazy man on the park bench, muttering about killing his snotty-nosed wife, think back to this post. You might be seeing my husband. Who I have systematically driven crazy with my pathetic, sick, wifey demands.