>Perhaps.

>Perhaps all of the different chemicals I’ve used over the years on my hair have seeped through to my poor brain.

As my dear Husby was sleeping the day away, (yay for graveyard shifts!) I decided I should be the good little house wife that I pretend to be, and start planning dinner….er… breakfast.

Of course any meal that consists of more than a hot pocket usually requires a stove and pots of some sort. So I threw on my zebra print rubber gloves and set out to save my lovely red cooking utensils, (thanks mom & dad!), from the place where all my dishes go when they’ve been used and abused. The kitchen sink.

Obviously I do lots of pretend house work too.

After what feels like HOURS, one stubbed toe, a soaked t-shirt, random self loathing, and a fully loaded dishwasher later, I finish.

Yesssss!

Doing my happy victory dance I turn the dial on ol’ Betsy expecting to hear her purring away. And then, nothing.

“Um. Hello Betsy. I know that you and I don’t have the best relationship. Perhaps I forget about you for long periods of time and then tend to overload you with mass amounts of work. And maybe I call you names while I fill your racks, which by the way are quite perky for a lady of your age. But please Betsy, please just turn on and do this load of dishes for me. I love you Betsy…I NEED you in my life.”

*sigh*

Unfortunately Betsy was having none of it.

Then I remembered back two months ago, to another day when Betsy wouldn’t start for me and in the mist of my frustration, the Husby walked straight up to her and turned her on. I figured she just preferred testosterone.

Considering the fact that I’m all estrogen with current temperamental dishwasher problems I decided there was only one thing left to do. I slowly creeped into our bedroom, snuggled up next to my Husby on the bed, and quietly called the dog over.

I mean, how was I supposed to know that Walter The Spaz would come jumping on the bed like it was a trampoline and end up standing on his daddy’s stomach, showering him in wet kisses???

*sniker*

As my poor Husby tried to figure out just who or what had awoke him from his bliss filled coma I gently stroked his face and sweetly asked him the following:

Persnickety: “Honey, do you remember that time when the dishwasher wouldn’t start and I got mad and over-reacted and you were so amazing and started her right up?”

Husby: “Yeah.”

Persnickety: “How’d you do that?”

Husby: “I flipped the switch on the wall above it.”

Persnickety: “Oh.”

Yes. All I had to do was flip the switch where Betsy is plugged in.

My Husby is a genius.

Me, not so much.

β™₯ Persnickety.

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4 thoughts on “>Perhaps.

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