To My Dear Skinny Spouse

Dear Mr. OCD,

Just because you are six feet, four inches and weigh a buck fifty soaking ass wet, does not mean that you are entitled to live on Little Debbie snack cakes and ice cream.  Furthermore, it is quite inconsiderate to bring such items into our home.  I don't know if you've noticed, but Mama isn't as...well...blessed as you in the genetics department.  Lard wrapped in cellophane makes me break out in cellulite all over!  Although I work out like a damn Olympian, I still look like an Oompa Loompa.  Because I like ice cream.  And chocolate chip cookies.  Screw real food; I need cake!

Which brings me back to our issue.  Quit buying everything ever produced by Pillsbury!  Why do you think the damn company is represented by the freakin' Pillsbury Doughboy?  Have you noticed his extra fluffy physique??  Do you think he got it from eating Kashi Lean!?!?!  He's ass is as big as the state of Texas because he consumed all the shit he is responsible for peddling to poor suckers like you.

Do not get me wrong; I totally appreciate you doing the grocery shopping.  And the cleaning.  And the laundry.  And the yard work.  Okay.  I am a slacker.  But this is not about me.  Stay focused.  Yes, I really appreciate your efforts.  I just wish you'd reconsider some of your choices.  Consider your family.  Think about your wife's ever-spreading ass when you pick up that chub pack of Toll House cookies. 

I'll admit.  I have a problem.  I am a junk food junkie with absolutely ZERO self-control.  If I were a drug addict, would you fill the house with heroine?!?!  HELL to the NO!  Cookies are my drug.  I have an insatiable appetite for Moose Tracks ice cream.  Save me from myself.  For the love of God!  Just say NO!  Help me kick the habit.  Help me live a longer, healthy life.  Lord knows, I do not want some nympho stripper raising my children when I croak from clogged arteries.  I may not haunt you, but I will make sure that Karma kicks your ass.

Love Always,


Your Squeezably Soft Better Half

Classic Moments with Mr. OCD

This afternoon while cooking supper, Mr. OCD sits down with E to complete his homework.  It's their little "thing" they like to do together in the afternoons.  It's always good for a few laughs.  Today's comedy du jour??

"What the heck is this?  God, I can't even do kindergarten homework!  Mama, what does this mean?"

I'm annoyed because I have to go into the other room to help.  "It says to illustrate a word that sounds like star.  See the star right there?"

*crickets*

"It means to draw a freakin' picture of something that rhymes with star."

*illumination of the proverbial light bulb*

"Ohhhhhh.  Now what's a word that rhymes with star?"

Luckily, my five year old had that one.

How the hell does he get himself dressed in the morning?  Thank God my children have me, the brain trust of the family.  I'd hate for my son to flunk kindergarten because his dad doesn't know what an illustration is.

Ahhhh...  He's just one brain cell away from drooling.

Praise Jesus, he has a government job!