I’ve read similar posts to this one on a couple of other blogs, but I don’t feel bad for being unoriginal because every woman who has ever cohabitated with a man for more than 30 seconds has her own version of this story to tell. Last night was the last night of a long, busy holiday weekend. I wanted something quick and easy for supper. The hubs and I decided on burgers and fries. But, as I said, it had been a busy weekend and I hadn’t made it to the grocery store. I had laundry going and was cleaning the bathroom, and D was playing on the computer and watching football simultaneously. He was all like, “Hey, baby, if you don’t want to stop what you’re doing I think I can peel my ass out of this chair that I’ve been sitting in all day long enough to go get the meat and buns and bring them home to you so that you can cook my supper after having washed my clothes and cleaned my house all day.” And I was, “No, sweetheart, that’s okay. I don’t want to interrupt your countless hours of football watching and Call of Duty playing. I would feel horrible!” (Sarcasm is my first language.) Anyway, long story short. My husband went to the grocery store. Alone. Without adult supervision. I sent him for one pound of hamburger meat and buns. I didn’t even stress him out with the details of fat content of the meat or insist on 100% whole grain buns. I made it plain and simple: MEAT AND BUNS. He came home with the following list of items:
- one pound of hamburger meat (good job, babe!)
- an 8-pack of hamburger buns. Not whole grain, but that’s okay, I didn’t specify otherwise.
- a package of Chips Ahoy chocolate chip cookies
- four 2-liter Coca-Colas
- a jumbo-size box of Little Debbie Nutty Bars
- two boxes of chocolate fudge Pop Tarts
- a box of CD sleeves
- a garbage can
I love my husband. But his Walmart privileges have been revoked indefinitely.