Wednesday, May 18, 2011

I {heart} stupid bumper stickers

I am extremely cranky today.  Beyond my usual, normal crankiness.

I just wrote a hate-filled awful post that portrays me as not a very nice person.

And then I read it, and deleted it.  I think it's much better that way.

I'll keep a snarky bit, though.

Saw a guy on the way into work with a bumper sticker on his car that read: I {heart} dating my wife.

  1. I can't tell you the last time that M and I had a date where either of us could really relax and that didn't involve a scheduling crisis of epic proportions.
  2. At first glance, the sticker reads: I {heart} doing my wife.  Ewwwww.
  3. What guy puts that sticker on his car?  My guess is the wifey gave it to him.  In which case he needs to grow a pair and say, "Darling, I love you, and I do love dating you, but that's cheese to the nth degree and I will not drive around with that on my car."
I am becoming a menace on the road.  What started out as speeding from necessity (too many places to be and not enough time scheduled to get there) has turned into aggressive, rage-filled driving.  I keep it in check when Zoe's strapped in the back seat, but once she's safely at school, I turn into a cross between Mario Andretti and the Terminator.  Which is not good because Mario crashed a lot and the Terminator is just plain creepy.

M said to me this morning, "I think we are overscheduling ourselves."  You think?  Then I snapped at him about having to photograph the stitching coming undone on his OluKais and lovingly spread my bitchiness to him.

I'm not crabby about photographing the stitching, and am actually well pleased that the company is honoring their warranty and will replace his shoes.  I'm crabby that photographing the stitching on his shoes is the extent of my photography these days.  Not that he knows this.  He only knows that when he mentioned it, his wife's head split open and aliens came out and spit green goo all over the room while screeching in a sub-human voice.

I don't like being crabby.  I hate it, actually.  I'm a firm believer that one can choose to have a good day, just as one can choose to have a bad day.  And I'm pissed at myself for choosing the latter today.

Which only makes me more cranky.

I just realized that M will read this, and will promptly hide the keys to the Corvette after learning of my current driving habits.  Damn.

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