This open forum may not be the right venue for sharing my angst at my husband's betrayal of me, but I need to share my pain with the world. Here goes...
It started last month when he walked in the door with a bag of Girl Scout Cookies. There was a box of Thin Mints, the world's greatest Girl Scout cookie ever made. "Get these out of here," I pleaded with him. "I can't be trusted to ration these."
"Really, you don't want them? I bought them just for you."
"I know you did and it's very sweet," I said. "But I'm telling you I don't want them. Take them to the office, okay? Please?"
So the next morning, he did. Or so I thought...
Yesterday I pulled open the freezer, looking for some form of dinner that would require no more effort than the pushing of microwave buttons on my part. I nudged a Bluebird bag of frozen peas and carrots aside and...
"BLAIR!" I screeched. "WHAT are THESE doing in HERE?!!"
"I guess you found the Thin Mints," he called from the front room.
I didn't say anything, but I was upset. Not mad, really, but frustrated. I had asked him to take the cookies out of the house. I had explained to him why I didn't want the cookies in the house. So why were the damn cookies still here?
A few hours later we were in the kitchen and Blair said, "I'm sorry about the cookies. I thought I'd keep them hidden until you were having a really bad day and then I'd pull them out and surprise you."
Am I married to the sweetest man alive, or what? I'm just a big 'ol meanie, is all. Of course, I'm now doing everything in my power to have a bad day so I may be rewarded with half a sieve of cookies. My only saving grace is for the box to remain unopened. Once the seal is broken, that's it. It's a thin mint free-for-all.
I've been bragging that this is the first year in about 30 years that a Thin Mint has not passed my lips. Oh well. I didn't eat any of the Peanut Butter cookies this year, so at least I've got that going for me. Right?