I? Am a diva-brat. And my husband? Is stuck being married to a diva-brat FOR ALL OF ETERNITY. I tried to warn him about what he was getting into, but all of my “I’m so high-strung.” warnings went unheeded. Like ‘high-strung’ doesn’t equal ‘if we are having a fight late at night, and I flounce dramatically out of the bedroom, I will also turn on every light in the house just because it irritates you, and will keep you from going to sleep. And if you turn the lights off? I will get up and do the whole thing a second time, all mature-like.’ or something. Hypothetically. If you deserved it, by being a big meanie-head and causing me to flounce dramatically in the first place.
Ahem.
That was a while ago, though! I really have grown up a little since then! My diva-brat story for TODAY is not nearly as, um, adorable? Lets go ahead and call me acting like a five year old adorable.
After work, I cooked us dinner tonight! I try to do that, since we spend all of our paychecks at Taco Bell. Or did, before the Nachos BelGrande That Smelled Like Fish Incident. And this makes us poor. And chunky. So I cook dinner; which, to date, only smells like fish when it IS fish, which I consider to be a good thing. Anyway. I made dinner, and it was just shrimp primavera out of a bag from my freezer a la Bertolli. And some cheesy garlic bread, because we? Like the cheese. I may have added some to the pasta, too, for good measure.
And then, no lie, I even did the dishes afterwards.
And then took a bath, and lolled about our apartment, and waited and waited and waitedfor Joey to get off the computer so I could have a turn. The downside of this squeaky-clean beautiful office of ours is that now we BOTH want to spend time in it. We may have been reduced to bickering jokingly about whose ‘turn’ it was to use the Internet. What is a more valuable way to waste time? Reading eleventy-gazillion blogs, or making eleventy-gazillion fantasy baseball trades? The world may never know.
So I, like the patient, sweet, self-sacrificing little wife I am, let my husband click-click away for several hours, and I laid on the futon and read more of Maybe Baby, just basking in his nearness.
And employing all of my feminine wiles to entice him to go and fetch me some Brie Cheese. Even though he had already left the house once to get us drinks from the gas station, and since he didn’t know which flavor of Fuze tea to get me, he brought home threedifferent flavors. Which was great! But now I reallyreallyreally wanted some Brie! I love it! I wasn’t full from that pasta primavera! I needed something NOW! He almost caved at my high-pitched squeaky noises, which he cannot generally resist, but then toughened up and called my “Its okay, don’t go.” bluff. He is turning into a wily old married man!
So I ate carrot sticks and Ranch instead, and pretended it was because I am so health conscious and always try to make good decisions. Except I forgot to buy the low-fat Ranch, so that was probably the Ranch dressing equivalent to drinking whole milk.
And this very fascinating and dairy-related post must now come to an end, because FOR THE THIRD TIME I am getting kicked off the computer. So someone can check to see if his trade proposals have been accepted. But I won’t whine too much, since I have already met my diva-brat quota for the day.
