If you were here right now, I’d be happy to share my afternoon coffee and Sixlets with you. Maybe you’d have something interesting to tell me, something that might keep me awake through what have suddenly and inexplicably become the long and lulling hours of late afternoon during which I have to perpetually do things to keep myself conscious. I keep wondering if I have thyroid issues. Or maybe I need to smoke more cigarettes. The latter seems just as likely as the former; I used to use a lot more stimulants to get through my day. Unfortunately, after way too many years of use, nicotine and sugar began to take their toll. I cut back on both because I like to believe that I can occasionally demonstrate at least a modicum of good sense.
If you were here, I’d tell you about my day thus far, which was mostly pretty good. Hubby and I do our grocery shopping on Fridays, and on weeks when we manage to get by for around $200, we go out for lunch before heading home. Today we stopped at Jack-in-a-Box because my sweet husband has an ugly, ugly addiction to Bacon & Cheddar Potato Wedges (and no regard at all for his wife’s continued attempts to refrain from putting hateful, fattening garbage into her stomach). At least this time he didn’t make me feed them to him as we were driving down the road, but I suspect he would’ve if the useless cashier would’ve put sour cream in the bag. It’s one thing to eat messy food while you’re driving down the road, but it’s a whole other level of crazy to attempt to dip your messy food into something else messy. Unless you want to wear a portion of every bite you take, you really need a wife willing to repeatedly and perfectly prepare each mouthful, and nearly lose her fingers every time your jaw closes. Anyway, thank god there was no sour cream to contend with, because I was a grouchy freakin’ wife today and I have a bad feeling that I might’ve missed his mouth a couple of times just out of spite.
It wasn’t his fault though, and like I said, it was a good day. The only real issue happened at Aldi, and I suspect it only occurred because a) the store was recently redesigned, and b) I was hangry shopping. First of all, they didn’t have the Granny Smith apples, and it took forever for us to make the circuit multiple times to establish that. There were workers everywhere who seemed hellbent on restocking everything too soon, and their empty and full trolleys were parked all over the place in ways that impeded and downright stopped the flow of traffic. FRUSTRATION. Then, I couldn’t find the applesauce. And then when I did find the applesauce, it was blocked by ANOTHER DAMNED TROLLEY. I wormed my way behind it and grabbed seventeen different six packs before I finally found two strawberry flavored ones. I absolutely wasn’t leaving without two, because TEENAGERS. Except [sigh] I then dropped one of them when I knocked my wrist against the fucking trolley on my hasty withdraw from the back of the shelf. The flimsy cardboard expelled four of the cups, and rather than shove them all in there while screaming at the top of my lungs, I dug back into the nether reaches of the shelf and found another one. This one I placed (somewhat forcefully) into the hand of my sweet husband, who later informed me that he would no longer be shopping in newly redesigned grocery stores with his lovely wife.
Honestly, no matter what I said about hunger/anger back there, I really have no acceptable excuse for aiming my ire at him. The man is seriously working his ass off lately. Between his time at work and school, I feel like I almost never get to see him. I should, therefore, be much more careful about being a nice girl, and someone with whom he actually wants to spend his few spare moments. If you were here eating my Sixlets and drinking my expensive coffee, I’d tell you that I’m absolutely going to focus on doing better in the future. And I’m not just saying that because you’re looking at me like I’m going to hell.
I’m also pretty excited this evening. Most likely, my brother will be handing over my brand new, custom built, kick-ass gaming computer tomorrow, and I’ll be spending the few days after that downloading updates and programs and moving a shit-ton of music, movies, ebooks, and pictures from various external storage devices onto the new system. The timing couldn’t be better: tomorrow morning, we’re quitting smoking AGAIN for the 500th time since the new year, and this time I’m doing it cold turkey. My husband has made me promise that I will not attempt to divorce him until we’re at least two weeks into quitting. Evidently, he’s tried quitting without pharmaceutical assistance before, and he remembers turning into something of a bastard. Considering the fact that he’s a freakin’ sweetheart (no matter who you ask), I’m finding myself a little terrified. What might become of someone like me who already has strong bitch leanings from time to time? Clearly, I should’ve put a half-dozen bottles of wine in my grocery cart this week. Or quite a few more Sixlets.
While we’re on the subject: Seriously — how many of my Sixlets are you planning to eat? And isn’t it time to lay off the coffee?