Well, summer is in full force. And that means the following for me:
1. ac at home not working
2. crabby, defiant other
3. nothing in my life to commit my time to other than work
Therefore... too much free time + sweaty other = evenings at home that are 2 swears words short of a fist fight. It's an algebraic formula for disaster.
I swear. If he tries to talk to me one more time, I might have to give him a pair of cement shoes and a one-way ticket to the East River aquarium. I'm in a play, he says I'm never home and he feel neglected. I'm home, I'm crowding him. God!
*Disclaimer. I'm joking about the cement shoes. I really love him, but I'm just counting the days until I whip out my grievance list for the couple's therapist. I'm hoping it works out.
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