Since I began blogging this past June, it has become my custom to write at least one post every single day. I don't always publish the posts, because sometimes I think they are shite and I delete them, or other times I save them to be published another day, but I write every day. Spending an entire blog free week was strange. I wrote nothing and only had access to a computer a couple of times.
All week long though, I was writing a blog post in my head that I would publish today upon my return.
I was going to tell you about the great party we went to for New Year's Eve at Dan & Steph's house, and about how Amy's ex husband Assface reluctantly agreed to let their daughter LBL spend some time with us even though it was his week with her and Amy had to agree to give him her left nut sack (yes, she has them).
I could've also told you about the terrific impromptu party given by my friends Nature Boy and Frenchie last night.
In short, our trip to Columbus was too short and we had a marvelous time.
I was going to tell you all about it in this post, but I am no longer in the mood for niceties and pleasant stories as I have spent most of morning and early afternoon fuming at my husband while cramped in our tiny vehicle on the drive home.
We started arguing in the breakfast room at our hotel over who's coffee was whose.
Mine = blonde and sweet, like me
His = dark and bitter
You can tell our coffees apart by simply looking at them, but he insisted that the creamier one without the paper band was his. So I skulked off and added more cream and sweetener to the darker one and said nothing, but smiled from deep within when he finally took a sip and realized that I WAS RIGHT MOTHERFUCKER. Hmf.
We argued in the elevator after breakfast on our way down to the valet to pack the car. We argued in front of the valet about how to pack the car. I felt it was best to drape the garment bag overtop of one of the larger suitcases in the hatchback so as not to disrupt my visibility while driving and he for some reason was worried that the clothes in the garment bag would get smushed and wanted to hang them from the hook in the backseat. So we argued in front of the valet about whether or not dirty clothes should be smushed or I should be able to see out the back window. I rolled my eyes and slipped the kid an extra $5.
As MDH and I waved goodbye to the hotel valet we argued about whether or not I had emasculated him in front of the valet. MDH felt that I had and I felt that he should have shut the fuck up and let me pack the car, which is what ended up happening anyway.
The tension continued after he expressed his disapproval of my chosen route to the highway and I reminded him that he had asked me to drive and to please get off my back and let me do it without the running commentary and criticism.
We wound our home in nearly crushing silence, until we were about 2 hours out of town, which is when we came upon a weird little purple pickup truck. The entire back window was pretty much taken up with an enormous sticker that looked very much like this:
The silence was broken as we passed the truck, when MDH asked, deadpan, "Was that Tammy?"
After that I laughed like a hyena for the next 5 miles and couldn't be angry anymore.