Tuesday, September 18, 2007

Do you ever sit back and wonder... what the hell did I have kids for?

Yes, one of THOSE evenings.

My kids are spazzes, and they're lucky I take them anywhere.


Also, you know how, becuase we have the ovaries and all, we'll be going full steam at say oh 10:40 at night. You just realized that your daughter has no socks for the next day, becuase even though you bought a brand new pack before school started, you've been washing one pair everday, becuase Lord knows what the hell she's been doing with them. So, you open the cabinet in the bathroom, and you see this pile of CLOTHES sitting ON TOP of the chute. You try to be understanding as you get on your hands and knees to push them down the tiny hole, becuase at least your husband TRIED to clean up a mess a few days before. So, can you really complain that he didn't take a small handful of clothing at a time and throw them down the hall, like you usually do? I mean it takes a few more minutes, but he's a busy man! But, as you're down there pushing about seventy loads of laundry through this hole, you come across a purse. A PURSE. A motherfucking black wool purse. Last time I checked, purses, they can not be laundered. Up until that point, you know, you've kept that pissiness in check, but this, THIS kind of lets it loose a little. Here you are, at 10:40 at night, pushing shitty underwear down a tiny crack in the floor, only to come across your husbands epitome of laziness. Instead of putting the purse AWAY he threw it in with the dirty clothes, amongst his skid marked undies, and smelly socks. Thanks asshole.

You calm down enough. Your husband.. he's had a HARD day. Poor him. So, you walk into the bedroom, probably with a look of disgust on your face, trying desperately NOT to sniff your hands (or is this just me?!?) and you see your husband, the love of your life, partner for eternity, laying there, in his pj pants... scratching his balls. You walk in and he says "Why does it feel so good to scatch?" I personally, at this point, think it would be awesome to scratch... the eyes right of his dam fool head. But, as a woman, you just make a little aggreeable noise. Then you get "What'swrong with you?"

WHAT'S WRONG WITH ME?!? Well, lets see. I've been dealing with a three year old all day, did shopping, picked kids up from school, had them do homework, only rush out the door to go to dinner with family, come home and have to deal with shit like piles of purses needing to be pushed down a fucking crevice in the floor. I have a headache, but the only thing I can think about is how I haven't fucking LAID YOU in a week, and how the guilt of not doing so is killing me, as you sit there and scratch your ever loving balls, while I search for missing socks.

Nothing wrongs, I was just born with a vagina.

No comments: