I came home today on a mission. A mission of the utmost importance: fold the mountain of clean laundry that is threatening to avalanche over the counter in the laundry room thus burying Joe Lewis' litter box. This had to be done for two main reasons: 1. if it did in fact avalanche onto the litter box it would no longer be clean and require a second washing. This is bad for the environment and bad for my temper. 2. I'm leaving tomorrow after work to visit Club Fun in South Fun and Run a 5K to raise money for Breast Cancer Research and I need clean underpants. I'm making sure to mention the race when telling people I'm leaving town, it makes it sound more like I'm doing it for a reason and less that I'm just in Club Fun withdrawal. But I digress, the laundry, it must be finished.
While I am laundering the underpants Wes, being all wonderfully and boyfriendy like he is, got his car professionally cleaned and tuned up today so as to be in perfect working order for my road trip. Yes yes, I'm taking his car. Nothing is wrong with Dora but the Speedy Coche is well...speedier? possessing of satellite radio, sun roof and a super smooth ride? It also has a steel frame as opposed to the tinfoil and plastic frame that Dora has to offer. And it's bright yellow. For these reasons Wes insists that I take his car and he suffers acute misery of the mind driving my reliable, economic though not-so-speedy Honda Civic. Combine this with earlier this week when I walked in the door to the comforting homey scent of bleach cleanser. He was bleach cleaning the counters, AFTER emptying (and then reloading) the dishwasher and folding all the blankets and de-cluttering the living room. Is there any wonder why I love this man?! He used the bleach cleaner!
He's been on a roll lately but then tonight, well all I can say that I am sincerely disappointed. I got up to find the take-out Italian menu and as I wander around the kitchen checking the front of the fridge (where it usually is,) the towel drawer (where it could be,) and the junk drawer (where it shouldn't be but hey who knows) I keep asking "where's the Piesanos menu?" And "I swear it was here the other day." So now I'm hungry, super hungry, four mile run kind of hungry and I can't find the take-out menu. When I'm hungry I'm not only touchy and mean but my problem solving skills seriously fall apart. So five minutes of aimless wandering around the kitchen and the couch saying "I can't find the thingi" Wes looks up and says "Oh, it's ON TOP OF THE REFRIGERATOR."
On. Top. Of. The. Refrigerator.
Because I totally could have found it up there on my own. And I totally didn't mean the last 5 minutes of asking "where is the thingi!? I can't find the thingi!?" Only half of this household can see on top of the refrigerator and I AM NOT IN THAT HALF. On top of the refrigerator, because THAT is the most logical place for items used by the whole household. In that place that only half of the household can see. The place that is not where the take-out menus goes but is a solid 8 INCHES ABOVE MY HEAD. Why must you choose this moment, the moment of hunger induced terror and confusion to mess with my emotions!?
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