Married life is such a pain sometimes. Especially when one’s husband is channeling his inner Pol Pot, making one’s life one gigantic headache. Honestly, I am so pissed off, I’ve half a mind to channel my inner Jack the Ripper.
Instead, I went out and bought . . . shoes. And a Topshop bodysuit (50% off, yo!). And a cork board. The barcode scanner is indeed the pissed-off wife’s best friend.
Pictures will have to follow. My camera is downstairs – his territory – and I refuse to step foot thereabouts until I get an apology. For the moment, I’m holed up in the bedroom-slash-office with meatrolls and bread and lots of orange juice in the bedroom refrigerator. Yes, I could do this for days.
My money’s on Jack the Ripper.
