You may not be able to tell, but the T-shirt says "naughty." You may not be able to tell that she's thinking, "I'm going to pee on your pillows if you post this on the Internet. THIS IS NOT MY GOOD SIDE." You may also not be able to tell that this picture was taken just mere days ago. (Notice the kitchen. See how it shines.)
(Sad, pathetic, depressing drumroll, please.)
When I came home to this tonight, I remembered how just Sunday I was lamenting that my husband totally deserves better than me; that amazing, adorable redhead that he is. Having to deal with someone like me. Oh, it was even guilt-inducing. Back then. BEFORE.
See, although my husband can make this kind of mess—and, seriously, the mess is nothing if not impressive, am I right?—his injury prevents him from cleaning it all up.
And this, dear friends, is why tonight I'm of the opinion that my husband? My adorable, affectionate, sweet, brilliant (I apparently used the word brilliant the other day?) husband?
TOTALLY MARRIED UP.
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For a break down of the clutter ('cause I know you're curious and 'cause I obviously had some chores to put off), hop on over here.
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Disclaimer: This was supposed to be funny. I love my husband and I don't want to hurt him or injure him and I actually don't mind cleaning up after him because he's going stir crazy and I know this and his ideas (a new filter!) are always very cute and—let's cut the bullshit—I can get at LEAST two pairs of shoes out of that dirty kitchen. And although I don't like soapy dishwater hands, I am not aboving PLAYING THE GAME in order to get some fancy new footwear. But, if you don't find me joking about my husband funny or if you think we're maritally doomed, well, first GET IN LINE and also wander elsewhere. I can say with much certainty, that the post quality is a lateral sort of thing around here.
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Disclaimer #2: The first disclaimer was necessary. Necessary because I'm still not drunk enough to tackle that kitchen and all this typing is killing me some time.