Marriage, french toast and Saturday mornings

I love my husband. But sometimes? I have to wonder why he has to be so gross.

It’s probably a man thing. The fact that I went into the kitchen this morning and found a sink with soggy dog food in the drain and a garbage bag in the can and another open on the floor probably has something to do with that pesky Y chromosome. Then I went into the bathroom and found a wet towel on the floor, next to a puddle of water. And this…

I'm really glad you shaved babe, but...

I’m really glad you shaved babe, but…

In case you can’t tell, that’s a ring in the sink made from an amalgam of water, shaving cream and freshly shaved stubble. Gross.

In my husband’s defense, he is actually very good about cleaning and whatnot. He’s the kitchen cleaner 90% of the time. 4 days out of 5, I come home to a tidy house. It’s the little things that drive me insane. And the little things happen to be especially disgusting. Like the wet sponge in the sink that grows bacteria faster that a petri dish seeded with staphylococci. Or the 2-3″ sticky yellowish spot in front of the toilet because he can’t give it one last good shake.

So… Yeah. I think that’s marriage in a nutshell.

Anyway. After I got over the annoyance and cleared up the kitchen enough to cook breakfast (the bathroom sink? That’s ALL him), I made a delicious breakfast for The Peach and myself. Princess Punk spent the night at My Mom’s.

French toast from homemade bread stuffed with caramelized bananas and cream cheese frosting…


The Peach approved. And I posted it on Facebook to make Princess Punk jealous.







I think I’ll play Sims 3 on my new laptop while I wait for The Peach to slip into a carb-induced coma.


1 Comment (+add yours?)

  1. Trackback: Well Played Sir, Well Played | newlifeinvermont

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