Interrupting this list of Bestest Summer Moments to insert a quick least bestest (worstest?) moment from today.
That would be the moment I nearly killed my beloved husband.
Coming home from a morning out at the thrift shop and picking up some more coffee at Zarra’s, I’m looking forward to getting in the house and making a little lunch. I’d already gone without a mid-morning snack which is very unlike my pregnant self. Translation: do not stand between me and the refridgerator. Or a burrito.
I start making sandwiches (one for each of us, i’m not THAT hungry) while Neil carries a sleeping Dash up to his room.
Lightbulb goes off in my head!
I made french onion dip yesterday and there’s a whole lot of it waiting for me in the fridge! I tore into the fridge, practically salivating (I didn’t say this story was pretty) at what I’d find.
And what did I find, you ask? Nothing. Absolutely nothing. No bowl of dip. Not even a little. Depression and disbelief sets in as I scanned the counter. And what did I find there? Dirty dip bowl, scraped of all its goodness. Depression set in deeper and I dipped a toe in the lake of rage.
I walked quietly upstairs to where Neil is working, contemplating divorce. “I am so mad at you right now,” I seethed.
Bewildered and a little scared, Neil barely got to wonder why before I let him know exactly what I thought of what he did. Then he confessed that since it was trash day, he took it upon himself to go through the fridge and toss anything that looked like it’d been hanging around for a month or more. He thought I would love him for it. Most wives would.
Anger melting, I had to admit that if you didn’t know you were looking at french onion dip, you’d definitely think a bowl of yogurt had gone terribly wrong. And smelled terribly wrong.
So I get it. I do. And it turns out that love can survive a husband messing with his pregnant wife. But it doesn’t put the dip back in the bowl, now does it?
In summary, I will be home the rest of the afternoon. Please come by with dip.Tweet