Another trophy for me!

Hubs has been working late, blah, blah, blah. Same old story. Last night he called and said that he’d not work too late and that he’d be home “at a decent time.” I’ll let y’all know when I figure out just what time that is. Anyhoo, I made dinner. Well, I made breakfast for dinner. I dirtied skillets and pans and spatulas and all kinds of kitchen utensils to create a sausage casserole and homemade (from scratch because we’re out of mix and just had to have them) chocolate chip pancakes. He doesn’t show. And doesn’t show. And doesn’t show. A couple of hours later, he comes strolling in, looking completely exhausted – whatever – I don’t much care.

He eats dinner, standing up in the kitchen, and proceeds to clean the entire kitchen while I remain curled up on the sofa watching some comedy on tv that I care nothing about. I can hardly be bothered to acknowledge him because I’m so irritated that I cooked a meal that is being eaten cold. Don’t know why that gives me a rash, but it does. He told me that he brought something home for me. I still don't get off the sofa. Great, I’m thinking, ‘bout time he remembered those two paper clips I asked him to swipe from the office for the kids’ folders. Am I supposed to jump up and be all excited because he managed to come home with paper clips?

It turns out that Hubs felt so bad about being so late so often that he went by Peterbrooke Chocolatier AND Sephora to grab me some goodies. The man willingly, and without duress, went into Sephora (a store he despises due to its malodorous smells) and purchased eye cream for me because he’d noticed that the dog chewed holes in my current tube of eye cream. (Which I’m still using, btw, because the tiny tube cost $35 and I will not waste a drop. I am nothing if not frugal. Well, except for the fact that I bought $35 eye cream in the first place. Vanity, who?)

I felt like such a heel. Such. A. Heel. I need to see about installing shelving for all of my trophies. I’ve got at least three or four Mom of the Year and am now branching out into Wife of the Year.

Heel. Wretched, despicable, wormy heel. That’d be me. Go me!