I may look like I roll with the punches and am cool as a cucumber, but I’m not. Throw a few speed bumps in my way as I rush head down the path I’ve decided to take, and I will start to cuss a blue streak and murmur curses. Or I least I did before kids. Now it’s silent. Like when I road rage. Oh, I have horrible road rage. I just have a hard time dealing with changes in MY plans. It’s amazing I decided to have children, instead of something more cooperative like fish.
This adorable character trait is nothing new. It has amused many people especially when crunch time comes and I’m as serene as a statuesque saint. Halo and all. Amazingly The Husband forgets this little quality of mine until it rears its ugly head, especially at him.
Which leads me to my Thank Me Later Thursday.
Sure I could talk about The Husband, who decided to go back to bed as I tried to motivate and round up the troops for a day outing that I promised we would meet my parents and in-laws early. I could thank him for parking behind me, for forgetting to get the plates on my car done in a timely matter, for not helping with any dressing, for forgetting to give someone a Christmas present and leaving it in the trunk of his car all this time.
But no, again, I direct this Thank Me Later to me.
Sure, you’re a planner, and you have to have things go a certain way or you freak out. I need you to chill a bit on that. Not that it isn’t cute the way you make up new curses and all, but you’re going to have an early heart attack. When you sweat the small stuff, you end up doing something incredibly stupid. Like texting your BFF, “I’m going to kill my husband today. I bloody know it.” That in and of itself isn’t stupid. Not checking who you sent it to is. Because the BFF didn’t get it. The first person with a C name got it, and she’s the second person. The first person was hardly amused by it. In fact, I would say he really believed it, but he should have known as a cop’s daughter you would never have put plans like that in writing so that there was a premeditated plan. No, The Husband was not amused, and you, my dear, looked like an @ss. My advice is to shake off more little things, even when they’re piling on like bugs on a windshield, and to double check who you send sensitive text messages too.
You may Thank Me Later.
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