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The Finger Condoms Are In The Van.

Big V made sure I knew that he had cleaned up the living room without having been told. Personally, I thought that was a given, since I had left the house in spotless condition. Well, in a mostly spotless condition anyway. The point is that of course he should have cleaned it up. The puzzle pieces weren't all over the floor when I left. However, when I returned, there they were. I walked into the living room that used to be clean and saw that it no longer was.

And then I sighed.

One of those long, drawn out, overly dramatic passive sighs that obviously means look, you asshole, I spent all freaking day cleaning this beast of a house with not one ounce of help from you, and then I went out and braved the freaking public in a gosh darn grocery store - and you know how much I detest grocery stores - what with their menopausal temperature zones and their wobbly cart issues, not to mention the idiots that park their cart smack dab in the center of the aisle so no one can get by, just so you could have a gallon of chocolate marshmallow ice cream at the ready, and I come home to this crap?

And then I walked out of the room and secretly hatched my Running Away To A Tropical Place Far, Far Away While Magically Losing Twenty Pounds So I Also Look Fabulous In A Swimsuit plan while putting away the groceries.

Apparently, I gave Big V enough time to decipher aforementioned long, drawn out, overly dramatic passive sigh because 20 minutes later I walked into a picked up living room.

And by picked up I mean he just scooped up the puzzle pieces and tossed them in a pile in the corner on the shelf next to the puzzle box which must have been very, very difficult to open, because otherwise it would have been opened and the pieces placed inside.

But I just walked past the living room and down into the basement where I spent the better part of my relaxing evening doing laundry, which included untangling every single article of clothing that man owns before tossing them into the washing machine while he laid on the couch and Cletus took a nap.

When I finally emerged from the bowels of our home with freshly laundered socks and underwear, I mentioned to the almost-sleeping Big V that I was going to run to the hardware store and finally get some fluorescent light bulbs for the garage, since 5 years without lights was starting to get on my nerves.

That's when Big V perked up like a dog dropping a dead chipmunk at your feet and chirped, "I have light bulbs! They're in the garage! All I have to do is put them in."

And that's when I discovered that for the past 5 years, while I've been groping my way across a darkened garage, four brand-new, not yet out of the box light bulbs sat on a shelf gathering dust.

As most women might imagine, this newly discovered information started World War III in our household.

I gave a long and lengthy detailed account of my frustrations being ever so careful not to forget a thing.

Big V listened to me rant without taking a single breath (me, not him; he was breathing just fine) for approximately twelve minutes before he said, "Well, if it was that important for you to have lights in the garage you should have just told me. How was I supposed to know?"

And that led me to explain for another twelve minutes about how I shouldn't have to tell him; that he should want to provide the most important woman in his life with lights. He should want me to be safe. Because how bad would he feel if some murderous stranger was hiding in our garage just waiting for the overhead door to close so that he could kill me? And then Big V suggested that maybe I should keep my vehicular lights on while I entered the garage and if I did, in fact, see some strange guy standing there with a hatchet perhaps I ought not to open my car doors and get out.

I hate when he's logical.


Then I read late into the night a most awesome book called Let's Pretend This Never Happened by the WAY too talented Jenny, The Bloggess. (And if you're one of the last three people on earth who have never heard of her check her out this instant. Don't even bother continuing on with my drivel.) And then I  fell asleep on the couch... which is code for absence makes the heart grow fonder and also so help me Jesus, if you had even thought about brushing up against me during the night I probably would have killed you so it's a good thing I love you enough to not want to end up spending the rest of my life sharing a prison cell with a Lizzie Borden wannabe. 

Then the next day, after I had found out Big V had spent $169.97 on fast food lunches for himself so far this month and after I sent a text that started out with Holy Wasting Shitloads of Money on Fast Food, Batman! - (totally true and accurate accounting, people. And that's just what he spent on himself. At McDonald's. And Burger King. And on gas station burritos. And the month isn't even over yet.) - which totally explains the state of our finances as well as his constant complaints about how "it feels like there are knives in my stomach" -- I came home to this note on my incredibly messy kitchen counter:

"Dishes will be done first thing after work tomorrow -
finger bleeding & rubber finger condoms are in van."

It should be noted that the dishes have not yet been done.

And there are still no lights in our garage.

And that finger condoms come in a one size fits all.


For realz! Happens ALL. THE. TIME. here too. But even better. Try this. Replace "grocery store" with "in a vicodin induced coma in bed recovering from surgery." Yup.
Anonymous said…

Did you get that? Is everything cleaned up already?

I love how the puzzle pieces were next to the box. That is some halfassed jackassery right there.

And I love how men act like toddlers that you have to TELL THEM to do everything. Would you die if I didn't tell you to breath? Would your stomach explode if I didn't tell you to take a dump every morning? Would you starve if I didn't tell you to eat? Men.

I'm a little afraid to ask this . . . but, what are "finger condoms?" (Just don't tell me if I don't wanna know).
Becca said…
I feel your rage. Did you respond "You can just use the normal condoms from the nightstand because we won't be using those for anything anytime soon!"

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