to record these things since my husband has declared that some day he is going to write a book for husbands titled, What NOT To Do:
Last night I discovered that my dish sponge was missing. Gone. Nowhere. We searched high and low. We used to have a dog that ate sponges, but the current dog? Not a chance; he's too short to reach it anyway.
Since I go to Target every day, you would think that I'd have a plethora of extra sponges in my stockpile but, it turns out, not a one.
So it's 8:30 p.m. and I'm trying to get the kitchen cleaned up for the night, still haven't eaten dinner, still need to shower after my run. I can't clean the kitchen without a sponge, so I ask my husband--who is fully clothed including shoes, who has eaten, showered after his run, and is about to sit down at the computer or watch TV while I finish up the last hour of home care before I finally drag myself off to bed--if he will run quick to the corner store and grab me a new sponge.
"Do you really need a new sponge tonight? Can't you just go and get one first thing in the morning?"
Hmmm...Jackass, let me see... You could make the round trip by yourself RIGHT NOW in just under four minutes (no exaggeration there, Jen), so I can eat my dinner and won't have to go out in public all sweaty with my bangs in a clip, streaming mascara, in work-out shorts with suede CLOGS on, OR I can drag TWO KIDS to the store with me in the morning and then have twice as much clean-up work to do with TWO KIDS hanging off me and whining while I am doing it.
Yeaaaah...I don't think so.
His response to that?:
"You don't have to be such a bitch just because YOU'RE EMBARRASSED that you lost the sponge."
I had to end the conversation there and run to the store myself because, OBVIOUSLY my husband has gone completely insane.