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a passionate repentance

Softy..where are youuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuu?

Softy..where are youuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuu?

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may God stand
So today, it's been a pretty quiet day. Good you say. Quiet is good.
Yes. It is. If you're the leader of a small European country maybe. Or if you're the mother of a couple of kids. Not if your husband doesn't know what to do with his free time.

So he comes in to my office to tell me an idea he's had for home remodelling. Okay..I can live with that. And when I go to get a drink in the kitchen there's another idea. And when I come out to the living room to see what he's doing..ANOTHER idea. That's all fine. It means the wheels are greased and the hamster is running. But when he comes in and I'm on the loo?

NOT good.

I am suffering from shy kidneys while he talks about floor panels and wainscoating. I'm cringing while he tells me about this dryboard that he thinks is for commercial use only but we MIGHT be able to use it. And I'm ready to scream by the time he draws breath to go on. And then he says "Are you done? I need to use it too."


On a plus note, I got to read more friends entries, and to learn things and hey, any day when I can actually find a pink tee shirt I like (I love pink) is not a bad day. Husbands aside. I just need to work on digging those rose beds deeper. So when I finally snap, I'll have a place to put him.
  • Now, you see, in my righteous anger, I would have heaved my spindly ass off the toilet, whizzed on his toes, used his shirt to dry myself, and gone merrily on my way. That'll learn him to interrupt your bathroom idyll.
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