Domestic bliss

Growing up my dad said I needed anger management classes. I think this is funny for two reasons; a. saying I needed anger management classes was a little like the pot being all, "psst, yo, kettle, you're a kitchen appliance!" and b. isn't that like throwing gasoline on an open flame? Today though I think he may be right. As I unloaded the dishwasher I noticed that at least half the bowls had dried crusties on them and those dried crusties exist because Bud insists a dishwasher should wash the dishes without pre-rinsing. And as much as I swore I would never be one of those angry, mean, domestic women I feel like handing him a dirty bowl as he walks in and saying something dramatic like, "you think the dishes don't need to be pre-rinsed? then what's this? huh?!" And it's so LAME to feel this mad (sorry mom, I know mad means crazy like "mad scientist" but I think it fits here). BUT JESUS. The dishwasher does not eat food, it just sloshes it around in hot frothing water which ok, I guess means the crusties are clean crusties but STILL. Anyway, I self-medicated with a Diet Coke I wish had bourbon in it. A Diet Coke Bud bought at the store Saturday for me because he knows I like them. Yes, I know, I know...now he will walk in and I'll over-compensate for my earlier feelings by being all, "how's spaghetti sound for dinner?"