When it comes to the topic of husbands, I know that I have little room to talk. I have found a wonderful man who treats me the way he would treat...well, let's not put a label on it shall we? And I'm aware that my problem with Husband is very first world. It's like having a fridge full of food and nothing to eat. Or a closet full of clothing and nothing to wear. He doesn't beat me, neglect me, or limit me in any way. I don't wear a scarf when I go out in public unless it's fabulous and matches my attire. And I don't have to have his permission to go out. More often than not, he encourages it in a way that makes me feel a little like the cat when we lock her out of the bedroom. Like I should be mewling at the door.
|Let me innnnn!! I know there's something good in there!|
Take for example this previous weekend. I was baking a cake and playing video games, and apparently I looked so happy that Husband could not just appreciate that I wasn't on his case for once. Oh no. He had to plop down next to me and have a conversation about it.
Me: This was a great day. I got to do two things I like all day long, bake cakes and play video games.
Husband: That's great honey. I wish I could make it last. But then once a month you'd have to bake cake and play video games.
Me: We're fat enough.
Husband: *no longer responding, just drifting in the ideal dream world where he gets cake once a month*
|This is how I imagine regular cake time going eventually.|
Special occasions are no longer special because I can make blue velvet cake any time. Each holiday I would have to come up with something bigger and better, and before you know it, I'm making croquembouche on a random Thursday and the next time Thanksgiving rolls around (I have to celebrate that shit twice up here) my head explodes in messy morsels of grey matter and pastry dough.
|This can change depending on which cereal we buy for the week. Stepping on Cheerios HURTS.|
As I said, husbands are a first world problem. Especially for me. And now I need to go to the grocery store. Tiramisu doesn't magically make its self on a Wednesday.