Friday, April 18, 2014
Not that long ago, my in-laws and I came to an agreement. The arrangement. And what that basically consists of is this: my FIL comes to meet me where the school bus drops Raelynn and me off so he can carry her sleeping-angel-face home; MIL cooks us dinner 3 times a week and she and FIL spend some time with Raelynn since they don't spend all day every day with her anymore. It was supposed to make all of us happy.
And it really, truly did make my life easier. Especially FIL helping me get from the bus to our home. Plus some nights, it IS nice to have someone else cook so I can just relax.
But not tonight.
After FIL helped me bring sleeping Raelynn upstairs, laid her on the couch and left, I took out some chicken breast. I had grand visions of making chicken parmigiana and eating something non-Chinese. As the chicken began to thaw and I scrolled through my newsfeed on Facebook, I heard our door open ever so quietly. And I snarled in anger. See, my in-laws came for dinner on Monday, Tuesday and Thursday. Today is Friday. We agreed to 3 days of dinners with them. Not 4. And on Wednesday, FIL had brought me a whole Chinese-style roasted chicken. I couldn't even cook that night because they left me with things that were already cooked.
Not surprisingly, my husband has yet to respond to my text inquiring as to why there is a horrid troll running amok in my kitchen. Okay, I worded it much more politely than that and perhaps he is legitimately busy at work, but seriously...WHY THE FUCK IS SHE HERE?!?!?!?
WHY? WHY? WHYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY?!?!?!?!?
I don't want Chinese food afuckinggain this week. I want to eat what I want to eat. Bitch better move out of the way...I'm making myself some hotdogs so I don't starve and then once I'm full and not in a stabby mood, I will ask my husband to remind her that I do truly appreciate the help but I LIKE COOKING and some nights I NEED MY KIND OF FOOD. And whatever it is she's in there making right now smells like burnt sand (if there is such a thing) and low tide at the pier. This can't be good. Save me, hotdogs. You're my only hope!
Photo from Wikimedia.