The Facts of the (Married) Matter

The curse of the broken mag charger looks to be broken today, thanks to my awesome husband who is picking a new one up for me at Best Buy this afternoon. (In spite of the fact that I got a ridic speeding ticket yesterday - one which I truly didn't earn. That would make this my second bogus ticket this year, but the last one I paid because - while I was NOT doing the speed the officer stated, I knew I was speeding and I wasn't going to quibble over the difference between the 73 I was doing in a 65 and the 80 he claimed I was doing "based on his visual estimation".) (I was hoping for good karma for my honesty in paying the price for my speeding.) (My estimation of karma's fairness was highly inflated, obviously.)
So I got a ticket yesterday for going 38 in a 25, only I was not going 38 in a 25. My van won't even get UP to 38 between stop lights, which is where I was supposedly doing this mythical 38mph, and apparently karma wants to bite me where the sun don't shine because now this 2nd offense = double fines and Hooray, kids! Christmas is officially CANCELLED! OY.

*pause for deep breathing exercises*

SO! In light of the fact that I have the worst habit of falling into bad luck, and also of PMS'ing approximately 25 days out of each cycle, I figure I owe it to the HubCap to publicly thank him and maybe fill out an entry on my sad, neglected corner of the web by admitting some things I would never admit to him in person.
And with that... away we go.

5 Things I Really Hate To Admit To My Husband But Are True.

1) It doesn't really bother me when you grab my boobs while I'm washing dishes. I would have told you so sooner, but I was waiting for you to recognize that it does not, in fact, constitute actual foreplay.

2) You snore a lot less than you used to. That said? When you DO snore, it is still akin to jackhammers clearing out a lot in my skull. But still, not nearly as common an occurrence as it was a decade ago. I just like to tease you about it because it's one thing you can't prove me wrong about one way or another. (Unless you secretly set up a recording device in our bedroom, which I'm fairly certain would be grounds for divorce in any state. Plus, my brothers would woop you but good.)

3) Your butt? Still looks just as cute in those jeans. I just don't like to admit it because my own arse is officially the size of Texas. But that's petty of me, so I'm letting it go. (It helps that I finally started to lose a few baby pounds and am now merely wearing "Ridiculous Size" pants instead of "Ludicrous Size".)

4) You probably haven't noticed, but I'm working on enacting the principle that me having a bad day does not, in any way, get improved by making your day worse. I'll keep working on it, and next time you can totally have the last beer from the fridge. And I promise not to pout about it - not even a little. Also, I will try to stop hogging the remote.

5) When I said "I'm not sure how we would work it out" and "we can talk about it more later" what I really meant was "Yes, of COURSE I want to go on a free trip to Arizona with you, but I am too exhausted to work out the particulars". I was hoping you would pick up on that and take care of all the arrangements, but I ran out of things to fill out the last number on this list, so I am translating from Wife Speak for you. You're welcome.

So, Baby? Thanks (in advance) for the macbook charger that will allow me to get all caught up on the rest of my laundry list of computer chores, and let me dust the cobwebs offa this place.
**Not to mention upload the photo of me in my smokin' hot "Mominatrix" shirt from the super-hawt Kristen Chase , otherwise known as "She who makes being the mother of 3 look way sexier than it actually is".**

Cuz, Baby? You are, and shall continue to be:
the monkey to my banana
the black mask to my ninja
the peg leg to my pirate
the Orb of Inquisition to my cloak of +5 agility

You. Complete. Me. (and my laptop, Angelina, who also thanks you.)