I Need Eight Hours Sleep To Rip Good Ass

Our final piece of furniture (when I say final, I mean of the stuff we ordered--I mean there isn't anything in the guest room so this is final forever final) arrived this week. I had to deal with a rude little bitch at the store on the phone to find out (as a measure of how sick I have been I LET IT GO, I didn't talk to her boss or even say a word I was just meh about the whole thing CLEARLY DELIRIOUS WITH FEVER) but it was here.

It is just a cocktail table so I went to pick it up this afternoon. J was late, which is fine because they totally load it for you so I just went on my lonesome.

And the lovely young man loaded it into my car--carrying this very heavy package by himself. And then offered to come to my house and carry it in and maybe put it together.

Maybe my ass does look good in these jeans after all.

I had to decline, which was sad because seriously it is not often that cute boys with big muscles who carry things for a living hit on me. I mean, it might never happen again. I do so hate to waste life experiences. But there is that whole "forsaking all others" part of the wedding vows to think of. And also the awkwardness of J coming home to furniture man in the living room.

Complicated.

So J met me at home and he started putting the damn thing together. We were watching the Yankees game and so he was in a pissy mood. We normally watch the NY/Boston series on separate floors with good reason--I get happy when Boston wins and he gets downright pissed off.

And CLEARY the umpires and major league baseball and everyone in the world want Boston to win because every single call in the past two years has gone Boston's way BLAH BLAH BLAH.

We did get into a tiff when I pointed out that was horseshit and get over yourself etc. I mean a girl can only take so much nonsense, even when she is married to a Yankee fan and should be used to endless nonsense. So while he yelled and curse I just thought about furniture boy and how he would NOT BE YELLING AT ME RIGHT NOW.

It is a damn good thing J is so cute when he is angry. Except when he kicked the cardboard box that the crockpot came in across the room. You break glass and scratch these floors and you will be watching tomorrow's game from the grave honey.

He finally gets the table together and one of the drawers is not right. So I get to go back and rip that girl a new asshole afterall.

That was so thoughtful of him.

If only I can get rested enough to do it properly.