to write about it.
|On our way to meet Minnie Mouse.|
Instead, I give you this actual dialog between Mr. Snarky and me last night, about two hours after we got home:
Me (blowing nose for the gazillionth time since getting home): I don't understand why my nose is so runny! It wasn't like this in Disneyland. Maybe I'm allergic to our house.
Him: Well... that bush* is still in the green bins in the garage. Maybe I shouldn't have propped the garage door open.
Him: Well, the bins don't go out until Tuesday.
Me: And they couldn't have just stayed in the back yard????
Him: But we always keep them in the garage.
Me, suddenly understanding why I was using my inhaler more than usual last week: SO? (Blows nose again. And again.)
In the next scene, I plug in my air filter and turn it on high and take two Benadryl before going to bed.
My husband would never hurt me on purpose, but sometimes I think he might send me to the hospital by accident. He has no real allergies and sometimes forgets how sick the things I'm allergic to can make me.
*This is the bush that I used to make him trim as soon as it showed signs of flowering, because I am extremely allergic to it. It was in the way of the new patio we're getting, so he dug it up. And then left it in the garage, apparently.