Let me set the scene for you: It is gorgeously sunny outside, my cats have been feed, I (for once) got a wonderful night's sleep, and woke up feeling slightly disoriented (passing out on the couch while reading will do that to you), but naturally foot loose and fancy free.*
I had planned to get in the shower (wel, duh), but of course my helpful husband is there already. This got me thinking: DOES HE EVEN KNOW IT'S VALENTINE'S DAY?
Let's forget for a moment of how the saint's day has been bastardized into a day filled with chocolate, flowers, paper construction, and generally enforced merriment where it's a free for all for anyone and everyone to inquire whether I am a growing a human yet (ironically, this is also the one day of the year that I gleefully tell other women that I'm sterile, no, I can't have kids, and yes, whatever brilliant fucking idea you have about me having a child is a process we have already considered. Sometimes I want to sign off with asking for a cash donation, but they've usually run screaming at this point. Pity.)
BUT SERIOUSLY DUDE: We've been married for more the 3 years. We've been together for nearly seven. For someone who touts himself on his ability to make people happy, I am still here in yoga pants and an old t-shirt of his. Listening to him talk ad nauseum about work.
Did we time warp to another time? Am I stuck in the Twilight Zone? I'm not expecting a goddamn thing, but...just asking me what I want to do without twenty rounds of negotiation would be nice.
OH. Frustration. That's what I got. Well gee, now I definitely have no reason to complain.Do
*DISCLOSURE: If it's currently cold, raining, sleeting or snowing where you live, suck it. Sunshine is the thing I can lord over you.