You guys, I think I might be close to a nervous breakdown. I just don’t know if I can take it anymore. Now, I’ve been fighting this for a long time — longer than I can remember, almost. And I’m a tough guy — hell, I can kick the shit out of most anything, but this… this may finally undo me. Deep breath — here we go.
It’s the purple. For the love of God… I don’t know how much longer I can take the damn purple. I’m in the kitchen the other day, trying to make an omelet in one of our purple pans — got a purple plate all ready to put it on — when I grab a spatula. And it’s freakin’ PURPLE. We have purple spatulas, people. Did you even know they made purple spatulas? Where does one even buy these things?
I love my wife, and I get that she has a few little, tiny quirks. I mean, who doesn’t? I’ve got my share, right? (Well, not really… I’m pretty much awesome, but I must have some small things that bother a few oversensitive people from time to time.) Point is, I’m more than happy to overlook most of my wife’s teensy-weensy weirdnesses… but the purple spatulas have put me over the top. I don’t think I can do it anymore.
I know I gave her free reign to decorate the house. But given this purple extravaganza, my generous nature (well, the fact that I really don’t give a shit about pillows and curtains and freakin’ doilies) is coming back to bite me in the ass, hard. I may just have to bring in a beaded curtain or a singing plastic fish or a neon beer sign…
Wait, wait… I think that Schrader genius just struck again. A neon Schraderbrau sign?! It’d be beautiful, man. I might even shed a tear. I gotta get on that!Read More