You know that line in Eminen's new song "Love the Way You Lie"? You know, the one about "Maybe that's what happens when a tornado meets a volcano..." That is precisely what happened last night when an overly stressed and cranky New Husband met an overly cranky menstruating wife. I hear the resounding UGH now.
We received four CDs worth of photos from our photographer last night; encased in plastic and then wrapped in an unassuming manila envelope, which was shredded by the time I got home. The New Husband was chatting with his mom and waiting for me to get home since he knew I'd stopped at our Leasing Office to pick up another package. "Pics came," he said nonchalantly.
Mapquest tells me that I work 10.5 miles from home. Ten and a half miles. I'd been sitting in traffic, ne, Terrible Boston Traffic for over an hour by the time I'd run into the Leasing Office like a lunatic to pick up the unwieldy thing. I popped the trunk, "Do you mind getting that?"
It was well after the time I'd normally have dinner ready, but that wasn't supposed to matter, you see because I'm Super Wife. I leap buildings in a single bound and I have dinner in the Crockpot all ready to go. Except that I wanted to use the last of the Maine corn we'd picked up while we were there to go with my slowly marinated and cooked ribs.
"You have to see these," he exclaimed after he'd torn open the box to discover that the replacement Correlle that BB&B had told us would take two weeks had actually taken about three days. He ran over to the computer and began furiously clicking the mouse.
"Can I drive," I asked.
"Just sit and relax and let me show you the pictures."
But I knew that there'd be a disconnect. I just wanted to flip through them fast so I could get dinner finished and then relax, but he wanted to comment on every photo, explaining in detail what he liked and didn't like about it. There were over 500 photos across the four CDs. Clearly, there was conflict.
Finally he agrees to let me start copying the files to our external drive so we can keep only the best ones we like and will use in the books we're making for our parents.
"Why can't you just use the Control key to copy and paste these?"
"Because then I have to take my hand off the mouse, move it to the keyboard, make some keystrokes between two windows and then go back to using the mouse! It's easier and faster this way, just let me do it my way."
"I think the keyboard is easier."
"You're not doing this, so let me do it how I want." He finally threw his hands up in the air, grabbed a beer and went outside for a cigarette.
Eventually we apologized to each other for being snippity because of course this is the sanitized version of events. I crashed on the couch while Rachel Maddow was interviewing a woman who is leaving West Point and going to Yale due to DADT (or Don't Ask Don't Tell for those of you living under a rock). I remember her saying that she'd return to the military when she was welcome to be who she is. I fell asleep feeling grateful that I am not only welcome to be who I am, but am loved this way...even on the days when I will slit your throat for a chocolate bar and am as bloated as a water balloon in summer time.
We received four CDs worth of photos from our photographer last night; encased in plastic and then wrapped in an unassuming manila envelope, which was shredded by the time I got home. The New Husband was chatting with his mom and waiting for me to get home since he knew I'd stopped at our Leasing Office to pick up another package. "Pics came," he said nonchalantly.
Mapquest tells me that I work 10.5 miles from home. Ten and a half miles. I'd been sitting in traffic, ne, Terrible Boston Traffic for over an hour by the time I'd run into the Leasing Office like a lunatic to pick up the unwieldy thing. I popped the trunk, "Do you mind getting that?"
It was well after the time I'd normally have dinner ready, but that wasn't supposed to matter, you see because I'm Super Wife. I leap buildings in a single bound and I have dinner in the Crockpot all ready to go. Except that I wanted to use the last of the Maine corn we'd picked up while we were there to go with my slowly marinated and cooked ribs.
"You have to see these," he exclaimed after he'd torn open the box to discover that the replacement Correlle that BB&B had told us would take two weeks had actually taken about three days. He ran over to the computer and began furiously clicking the mouse.
"Can I drive," I asked.
"Just sit and relax and let me show you the pictures."
But I knew that there'd be a disconnect. I just wanted to flip through them fast so I could get dinner finished and then relax, but he wanted to comment on every photo, explaining in detail what he liked and didn't like about it. There were over 500 photos across the four CDs. Clearly, there was conflict.
Finally he agrees to let me start copying the files to our external drive so we can keep only the best ones we like and will use in the books we're making for our parents.
"Why can't you just use the Control key to copy and paste these?"
"Because then I have to take my hand off the mouse, move it to the keyboard, make some keystrokes between two windows and then go back to using the mouse! It's easier and faster this way, just let me do it my way."
"I think the keyboard is easier."
"You're not doing this, so let me do it how I want." He finally threw his hands up in the air, grabbed a beer and went outside for a cigarette.
Eventually we apologized to each other for being snippity because of course this is the sanitized version of events. I crashed on the couch while Rachel Maddow was interviewing a woman who is leaving West Point and going to Yale due to DADT (or Don't Ask Don't Tell for those of you living under a rock). I remember her saying that she'd return to the military when she was welcome to be who she is. I fell asleep feeling grateful that I am not only welcome to be who I am, but am loved this way...even on the days when I will slit your throat for a chocolate bar and am as bloated as a water balloon in summer time.
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