It's play time
I have had it. I think Chirstoph finds it amusing that for a couple days out of the month he gets a different Hillary. After telling him I'll murder him if he doesn't give me some chocolate, he laughs even harder. But it's not a relaxed laugh like usual. It's a laugh out loud, ha ha ha, but I hope you're joking, but of coarse she's joking.....Is she joking?
Last night he said he is going to start a PMS diary of everything I say.
Two entries were filled yesterday.
"Did you know that the smell of farts actually can cure cancer?"
He loved that one.
I was explaining this to him to cover for....well, I just was.
"Quit acting like the victim, you're not the victim, you're the cause of it!"
Another entry was.
"Quit chewing your gum like a prick."
He was definitely chewing his gum like a prick, all loud with his mouth open. I think you can almost read who a person is by the way they chew their gum. In this case, Christoph is not a prick because I wouldn't marry a prick for one, and two he knew it bothered me.
So the antagonizing continues, and he finally gives in to make me a delicious nutella covered rice cake. You see, I ask him when I am sane, if he could please hide the nutella. Then come time when I need some chocolate, I can ask him ever so politely if he will give me some so I don't eat the whole jar. I should probably have him hide the whole kitchen, but we don't have enough room for that. So then he agrees, because he is a very good husband who wants the best for me.
Then the monster comes out. When I want chocolate I have to get it....Now. At this point feel like a junkie coming down off of heroine. So me being the persuasive and manipulative person of the relationship, I then convince him by very particular intelligent reasoning as to why he should give me some chocolate. This usually happens almost every night, and it ends in me tackling him, choking him, pulling his hair, calling him names. You name it.
He said last night, "I'm going to go into my first day of work with a black eye and I'll have to make up some story of running into a cabinet."
I reply "Whatever you %&^$#@, I'm not that horrible."
Christoph says, "Yeah, and I'll have to explain why the cabinet has a perfectly round fist shape"
So I maybe exaggerated my part a little bit. Maybe.
Don't think I'm a horrible person. It's sounds a lot worse than what it is. And if I thought it was harmful, I would not be blogging about it of coarse.
He always gives in to me getting my chocolate. Then when he offers it to me, I wonder why he is not holding me better accountable and then I change my mind and say "I don't want any chocolate." But this usually happens mid day, and then at night is when I finally HAVE to have it. Always after having my first one, I want more. This is where having only him know where it is has proven itself to be the best option.
It's funny because, and I think most women will agree with me here, you have so much anger, or I'm not sure what it is, built up inside of you with no one who will understand or let you extract it peacefully. It has to come out somewhere. I think this is why God gives women husbands. To be the outlet. The spout that pours out the pot's hot substance. The shelf to put all of the junk on. The drain sifter to keep all of the slimy food from clogging the sink. The rug that cleans our shoes. The pussy substance that comes out of a cut to heal it. The toilet to.....nevermind that's too far. Our husbands are all of these things. To keep the peace in the homes. And God gave men women to keep peace on a more "whole world" scale. I don't even know where to start on what women do for this world. It's almost indescribably too good to write down. So I wont.
I'm not making much sense.
So this all goes to say that once again I have a wonderful husband, and God chose him specifically for me so that I could have a great outlet once a month every month for the rest of our lives.
I love it when he asks me about ow to spell something, or what something is called. I can just make it up, and he believes me. He says, "What are those socks called that go down to your ankles?"
I say "Flockies, they're called flockies" (made that up)
He says, "Oh ok, I need to go get some flockies tomorrow"
End of story.
Today he asks
"How do you spell October? With a K or a C?"
I say, "With a K"
From now on, he spells it wrong.
I'll tell him tomorrow. I am not that cruel.