I Effed My Husband Real Good

I try to be forthcoming and truthful on this blog. I have never been one to exaggerate or contort the facts to the benefit of myself... or others.

I blog as if I am a journalist. I'm not a puff ball like Laura Spencer from Good Morning America. I think I'm more along the lines of a Lisa Ling. I get dirty. I sweat bullets over my ground-breaking, earth-shattering, monumentally popular blog. After all, my blog is the must read of all blogs ever written. 

So, it should come to no one's surprise that I am always quick to deliver hard-hitting news of Doc H's missteps, faults if you will, in our marriage. If you remember, I was very quick to point out his forgetfulness which led to a Fruit-of-the-Loom underwear splurge at Rite-Aid. His driving has always been questionable at best. His home repairs always require surgical tape. And lastly, let us not forget the times he has left me high and dry in the name of his scalpel.

In the name of fairness, transparency, and balance,  I feel I must share this tidbit with you, dear Reader.  I preface this admission by reminding you how we wives live a righteous life... one filled with piety, purity, and an overall sanctitude, sacrificing ourselves for our spouses and children. We are last to sit at the dining table. We eat the burnt toast, the bread loaf heels and any other neglected food pieces, all to pleasure and benefit our family. Our sacrificial actions and intentions are always a demonstration of love in its most genuine form. I found myself reminding Doc H of this numerous times this evening.

My intentions and actions were for the benefit of the children... and our dog. All good. All wholesome.

We spent the week at our vacation home. D3 brought a lovely friend and our dog. Said friend had to be home on Friday afternoon. Doc H had time off until Monday. We travelled in two cars, so Doc H could relax and vacation over the weekend by himself. 

While there last week and we traded cars one afternoon, so he could take the children and the dog out and about while I lunched with a friend. 

The next day, I left for home with the girls.

He called four hours into my drive home. 

"Where are my keys?"

"I dunno. I'm driving."

"Where are my keys? In your purse? You drove the car last."

GULP.

"Hum, en, a...I'm driving. Lots of traffic. Look in house. Must be there somewhere. Bad connection. No can hear you."

CLICK. {sweat. bullets.} SCHEISSE.

I know I have them. I know he's looking. I know I put them in my purse and never put them back. Ohhhh, he's a gonna be mad atta meeeeee........

Yes. Here it is. Here it goes. Brace yourself...

Here are your keys, Honey.
You still love me, right?

Source

{itwasallmyfaultiforgottoputhiskeysbackwheretheybelong}

Hard-hitting, truthful journalism. 

I will be making the four+ hour drive up tomorrow morning at the crack of dawn with two kids and another dog that doesn't even technically belong to us (step-dog, if you will) in our thirteen year old minivan nicknamed "The Pimp-Mobile".

{becauseitwasallmyfault}

Doc H should be okay for 24 hours. The house is properly stocked. I know there's no food in the house, but there is wine. Plenty of wine. I think he'll survive.

Wait. What's that? The wine cabinet key is on your keychain, too? And it's locked?

Oh, Honey, I  f*@#ed you real good.

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