Good Lord but I’m getting tired of waiting on my husband! LOL!

Pamper, my ass! Brett finally decided that the couch – uncomfortable as it is – is not a good place to hang out when your back’s a mess. This means that he’s been hanging out on our bed instead. It also means that I’ve been bringing him stuff all day. Magazines. A TV tray to keep his tons of junk upon. (The man is like Pigpen. Wherever he goes, piles of junk appear. I have no idea how he generates so much garbage just sitting somewhere.) Food. Drink. Pillows. Slippers. A television. The PS2 and related cabling. DVDs. Ibuprofin. Juice. Ice packs.

(The TV is from Joe’s room; Brett called Joe at work and asked if he could borrow it. It’s even bigger than the one we have in our living room, and it’s perched precariously atop a speaker cabinet. I rolled it from Joe’s room to ours, but there was a scary moment trying to coax the ungainly beast – taller than I by several inches – over the lip of our bedroom’s threshhold. I envisioned the telly crashing down the stairs with a mighty noise and lots of little shards of glass I’d have to sweep up. Brett said, “Can I help with that?” and I said, “Yeah, right!“)

The lasagna is finally in the oven; I ended up serving lunch the last time I got off the Internet, and what with all the running up and down the damn stairs all day and trying to get a little housework done, it was 4-something before I started making it. It’ll be out at 5:45, just in time for a proper 6 o’clock supper.

It’s nearly 5:30 now, so I guess I’ll go tend to the garlic bread and Caesar salad. Off I go, domestic goddess that I am.

Snort!
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