Wife's Night Off

Boo, wandering in after spending the last few hours building us a pool deck, "What's for supper, woman. I'm starving."

Me, after spending the last few hours surfing the net and watching my husband break his back for a deck I wanted, "Nothing."

"What do you mean nothing? I'm hot, hungry and dammit woman, it's your job to feed me. Not to mention, our kids might need to eat."

"I'm taking the night off. I'm tired of cooking. Order a pizza and drive to town to get it. That's as good as I can give you."

"Well you go pick it up at least, since you aren't cooking."

"Nah. I've already been to town twice today because of swim camp and the kids. You want to eat, you pick it up."

"Aren't you a peach."

"Why thank you. You're more of a pear...Kinda woody."

"Cute. I'm leaving. Order the pizza now so it will be ready by the time I get there."

"Nah. I ordered last time. It's your turn to order."

He's getting a little pissed with me by now. And I can't seem to stop myself. He he.

Aggravated he responds, "FINE! I'm sorry I didn't notice that piano tied to your ass. My mistake. What kind of pizza do you want me to order, drive in, pick up, pay for, slice and hand feed you?"

"Hmmm, vegetarian."

"What? No salami?"

"Nah, I've had salami every night this week and I'm getting tired of tubed meat. At this rate I may get scurvy.

"You know, I hear a little salami goes a long way. And it'll cure what ever ails you."

"No thanks. Just good ole fashioned veggies. Oh, and can you buy some Coke too?"

"Cock? Sure, I've got some."

"No. COKE. I want it fizzy not fuzzy."

"I'll make it any way you want it baby," as he wiggles his eyebrows.

"If you can make it brown, syrupy and fizzy, I'll be your soda jerk and drink from your fountain of love, darling. Now go bring me some pizza. I'm hungry."

"Remind me again why I married you?" He murmurs as he walks out the door.

"Because you knocked me up!! Don't forget the napkins." I yell out after him.

It doesn't get any sweeter than this, does it?

Ten Years of Wild Monkey Behaviour

Ten years ago today, I was tossing my cookies, while holding back my veil trying not to splatter puke on it.

Not that the idea of marrying Boo was vomit inducing, far from it. But seeing as how we were rabbits back then whose sole purpose in life was um, procreating; your oldest son, approximately four gestational months old, was making my life difficult while your eight month old daughter was preventing me from actually sleeping (or eating anything other than dried cheerios.)



Last year, on our nine anniversary, while still reeling from our loss, I wrote pretty words of love for you. Of course, since then, I have pointed out to the world what an asshat you can be. I do on occasion, to prevent people from thinking you are a complete twit, point out some of your admirable qualities.

This year, I am taking a new direction. They say a picture is worth a thousand words. May you read these pictures and feel all of the love, joy, exasperation, happiness, annoyance, sadness, occasional anger, perpetual lust, friendship and kindness that I feel towards my husband.



Against all odds, and countless bets made between our relatives and our pastor, we have survived. Flourished. And brought more of our crazy genes in to help with my plans of global domination.

Here is to decades more of being a thorn in your mother's side. I love you.

Now please excuse me, I have a flight to catch to surprise my husband this evening. I have planned an evening filled with expensive champagne (followed up with wild monkey sex) for the two of us. I'll be back tomorrow, hung over, happy, and hopefully wearing a very big smile.

Ten years later and we still can't keep our hands off each other.

***Special thanks to all our children, family, friends and local liquor store employees who have helped us make it this far. Take a bow people. You've earned it.***

A Bad Night, But a Good Morning

The cost of two tickets to the blues legend, B.B. King: $140

The cost of accidentally flushing your car keys down the toilet: $0 and wounded pride.






The cost of calling a tow truck to pry open your car to fish out your wallet, phone and jacket: $48.00

The cost of having to listen to best friend, the Piano Man, laugh his ass off at your expense: $0 and wounded pride.

The cost of having to phone husband (long distance) and explain said dumbass move: $2.00

The cost of replacement keys and clicker: $121.00

The cost of sleeping on Piano Man's couch because I was stranded: Never ending backpain.

The cost of waking up and prodding the Piano Man's lazy ass out of bed to make me coffee: Totally worth being called a pain in his ass.

The cost of walking outside to find my car in Piano Man's driveway with a new set of keys: Priceless

The cost of having a husband drive five hours and missing his sleep to fix my fuck-up and bring the Piano Man and I breakfast: Invaluable and worth every blowjob I could ever offer.

The cost of fixing the Piano Man's kitchen faucet which has been broken for a year and a half: $0, five minutes of time and a genius husband.

That's right, I accidentally flushed my keys down the toilet at the concert, suffered the indignities of having to admit said dumbass move, pay a tow truck driver to break into my own car, sleep on the Piano Man's lumpy couch, only to wake up to find my problem solved, my beautiful husband at the door with coffee and bagels in hand and to top it all off, after driving all night to surprise me, he plays PLUMBER GOD and fixes the Piano Man's sink.

A husband like this: Worth it's weight in gold.

I must go now. Somebody has earned a special treat...

Special thanks CrankMama to for nominating this post for a ROFL award. Need a giggle? Check out the other winners over here or here.
I heart you all.



Updated: I just realized that Ali at Cheaper than Therapy nominated the same post for the same award. Damn, I must be sick to have overlooked something like that. My sincerest apologies for overlooking that. Go on over and spread some love. She's part Canuck which means we're soul sistahs.

I heart you too, Ali.