Once, on a greasy hair day, I devised a clever and (what I considered) reasonably attractive hairstyle comprised of said greasy hairs, plus numerous clips and bobby pins. I walked around all day, even in public!, right tickled with my invention and imagining a world in which I never suffered a bad hair day again - glorious! When DH returned home from work, I asked what he thought. Our conversation:
"Hey, what do you think of my new hairdo?"
"Okay, more specific: if someone came to work with this hairdo, what would you think?"
"Uh, I would think that person didn't try very hard today."
Tonight, DH complained that my posts have been "lacking in depth". "They're not very long. The first ones were longer," says he. "Why didn't you talk about how we slept in shifts on the couch for four months, then moved to the basement where our Executive Guest Suite was just an air mattress that kept deflating for three more months, then we bought a brand new bed and still had to sleep on our shitty old mattress in the basement for four more months because our nice new bed was room-sharing with the baby?! They don't know how awful it was!!!"
Well, there. Since he's all hysterical about it, I've told you. And now while he's off having a good cry in the bathroom, I am going to tell you something else:
#26. I don't take well to criticism. It's a blog, for Pete's sake. Lacking depth my big white arse.
In completely unrelated news, it really annoys me when DH puts empty containers back in the fridge or cupboard. Or virtually empty, anyways - like we really needed that last four molecules of grainy Dijon. But maybe I'm just shallow that way. You know, like, lacking in depth or something.