I am an angry woman. Bitter I tell ya. My husband is a dysfunctional man whom is a cross between Fred Flintstone and Archie Bunker. I could go on and on. Yes I love- hate him
First I am mad at him because he thinks he knows more than a veterinarian, who has advised us that our dog should not eat animal products other than his dog food as he had an inflamed pancreas. This Fred- Bunker man whom I love-hate decides to bring spareribs home for the dog. I tell him “No no, he cannot have that.” My husband responds intelligently to this with “Aw B.S.!”, literally.
Thus is my life with this man. I then go out to the back porch and proceed to throw my body across the top of my washing machine to keep it from being off balance as nothing else seems to work.
It sounds like it is full of bricks and is going into a wild orbit which will lead it down my back steps. Oops! I almost forgot , don’t have a back step either, just a decrepit ramp. When griping to my friend on the phone , she queries, “What is that God- awful noise ?”, so I explain.
She then tells me “You know they have little feet on them to level the thing.” I tell her that I have heard such stories, but no one ever does that here.
Then I ask if she remembers the refrigerator that sat in my yard for way, way too long. One day I got so upset at that thing and at Mr. Bunker man that I love- hate for it still being there.
I began to plot and voiced out loud how I was going to push that thing, with the strength of a maniac into the road, and fire on it with a double barreled shotgun, that I do not own, but would get somehow. My husband’s friend looked at me in alarm. I just secretly smiled.
Thank God it never came to that. It seems like I have to loose total control and go ape- shit for someone to get it through their head, over and over and over, that I do not want to live with appliances or junk cars in my yard. No brother in laws either p-lueez…….. or cousins staying in the garage or the camper.
Sigh……….. Please God take me away………………..