I freaked out today.
I really and truly had a complete freak out.
My husband and the exterminator showed up together right in the middle of said freak out.
The bug man went about his business and pretended not to notice, though he looked quite uncomfortable.
The husband just sort of stared at me for a while.
Then he got on the phone and fixed my problem. At least for the time being.
Maybe it was karmic payback for the freak out I caused my husband this weekend.
Who is the marketing genius who decided that highway billboards are the best place to advertise vasectomy reversals? While men are confined with their offspring for a long road trip is not the most opportune time to hit them up to have another kid.
As we drove by one of these signs I asked my husband, "So, do you want to have another one?"
He swallowed his tongue. He drove the van off the highway in his panic. His head spun around three times and his eyes popped out.
Okay. That's not true. Except for the eyes popping out part.
We had a great weekend with the kids. They haven't stopped talking about it. But my return to reality has been a hard fall.
I'm a little sore. But I'll be back to myself in no time. Unless my husband decides to again say, "Now I know where the kids get their drama from." Then I'll be in jail for spousal abuse.
Addendum: Patrick called me last night. He wanted to know if my freak out sounded like this:
"...where's the cheese on these goddamn fucking fries?"
There's a reason why we're friends. And it goes beyond our love of Sam Tyson's tattoo.