So how does today equal a kick in the jewels?
Well, it began as I expected. Husband got up a half hour before me, not so he could prepare himself for the day, but to play fucking Fallout. So when I finally ambled downstairs in a grumpy ball of grump, he was sitting there, pretending like he didn't have boots to polish or brass to shine and a tie to find. Thus, I got into the shower, already tense, knowing we were going to be late.
I should be used to being late, right? Because my husband dawdles. He's a DAWDLER. For a man who has to be on time or get into trouble, he sure as shit doesn't seem to have any sense of urgency when we're going to be late for something. I personally would rather be on fire than be late for something, but he doesn't seem to have that freaking problem. Oh no, not my dawdler.
Anyway, we get into the car, me in a suede skirt and kimono top, him looking dashing in his uniform, and all of a sudden he changes his mind over what ceremony we're going to. Now anyone who knows me knows how OCD I am, and how changing plans at the very last minute drives me nuts. So this is pretty much how the conversation went:
Husband: Let's go to the ceremony at Kingsway.
Husband: But that other ceremony in St. Albert isn't really a parade or anything.
Me: You made your choice, we're going to fucking St. Albert.
Husband: But that's not a ceremony!
Me: (this is the point where my head explodes into a mess on the windshield) And if we go to Kingsway we'll be fucking late and miss everything and have to walk three fucking blocks to get to this fucking ceremony that is outside. OUTSIDE. IN CANADA. IN NOVEMBER.
And yet, we fucking went to Kingsway. We then got lost, asked some guy who didn't speak English where to go, got lost again, and finally got there just as the parade ended. Mike wanted to hold my hand. I staunchly refused, standing in the parking lot about half a mile away from any of the parade stuff.
And guess what.
We were late.
We missed everything.
We had to walk three fucking blocks.
Anyway, after all that, we went to Smitty's and got some breakfast and I decided when we got home it was time to bury the hatchet, and not in Husband's skull. So we went upstairs to have "Super fun grown up time" together, and just as we lied down on the bed, apparently I kneed him right in the junk.
Of all the times I have wanted to knee him in the junk, and yet I never got the chance, and I would do it when we were trying to get along. I tried really really hard not to laugh too. Like, really hard. Like I smothered it beneath the choking noises he was making as he rolled over in agony.
I guess we're all going to associate Remembrance Day with a kick in the family jewels now.
This was funnier in my head.