Am I a bad girl if I want to consume alcohol and lick toads right now?
Before you judge, keep in mind that my husband is unwell with a herniated disk and I am still living off Ensure & Honey Nut Cheerios... because apparently not having a gallbladder isn't the dream I thought it would be.
So, if I want to sweetly and softly place a pillow over Mr. Man's head for some length of time, does that mean I will never get to meet those five people in Heaven Mitch Albom was so excited about?
Don't get me wrong. I love him. (Mr. Man, not Mitch Albom. Not that I don't like Mitch Albom. I really do. We just haven't spent enough time together for me to love him. Usually takes about five minutes and a couple beers.) I love my husband awful and terrible and I could not live one twenty-four hour period of time without him.
Having said that, I may want to kill him a little.
I know I get married for fun and profit more than most people, but there are two very good reasons for my nasty marital addiction.
Number one reason: I am a Southern girl who was taught that saying no is impolite.
Number two reason: I need a man in my life at all times to fulfill each of the manly duties spelled out in the book of Genesis. If memory serves, it states men were invented to reach high things, kill creepy crawlies and fix things that fall apart... wives included. (I'm paraphrasing.)
It's Mr. Man's recent lack of fulfillment of that number two there that has triggered this maniacal version of myself. It's his fault I am falling apart a little and therefore left to handle my mental destruction with either an illegal habit or a small homicide. (Nothing messy. I have enough to do.)
Today, despite the fact that I have a sick tummy and have taken to burping like a college boy whose been out drinking all night, I had to do man things! Trash needed to go out, heavy things needed to be lifted, and I smelled something funny in the back room that truly should have been investigated. (Funny as in bad, not funny as in I left a clown under the bed and forgot about it. I know the difference.)
I had to do freaking man chores! How is that right? I have to do the woman things in this house, no matter how icky I feel or how loud I am burping. But let Mr. Man herniate something that he thinks is supposed to remain un-herniated and suddenly he can't climb a ladder or properly dispose of a boiled chicken carcass. (I was doing a little black magic this morning and a homemade chicken carcass has superior dark magic qualities to a store bought one.)
I was a trooper though. A regular feminist. I fought back the tears, chewed back my stomach contents, and screamed, "Soooooooooonnnnnnnnn!" Hey, it's about time my twelve-year-old learned more about the Old Testament.
PS: Will I get high if I lick any toad, or does it have to be a toad that uses illegal drugs on a regular basis?
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