When I’m in a level Yellow crisis (ZGirl had just threw up on her bunting as we are heading out the door -she’s fine. Mucus + formula = upset tummy) and I ask you – with a PLEASE – to “get her green flannel blanket, in her room, in the dresser, bottom drawer, should be on the left” (verbatim) and once in her room call out to me that you cannot find it and then when I carry ZGirl with me, fearing she will lose it again on my work clothes and see you staring into the bottom drawer where even I can see the damn green blanket to which I say, “It’s right in front of your nose!”; you telling me to “Eat shit” was not your smartest response.

Your Loving Wife Who Snubbed Your Attempt To Kiss Me Good-Bye By Saying, “I Can’t Kiss You, My Mouth Is Full Of Shit”