A (Passive-Aggressive) Letter to My Dear Hubs

Hey, Babe!

I bet you're having a fantastic time in Italy. I know you're "working" and you go there as often as most people go to Publix, but you're enjoying yourself at least a little bit, right? Gosh, I sure hope so. One of my Facebook ads this morning asked me if I needed a trip to Italy. Everyone's a freakin' comedian these days.

Speaking of Facebook, I saw the photo you posted last night. That spaghetti and Chianti looked sublime. Makes me feel less guilty about you missing out on the Arby's feast we have planned for tonight.

The kids are fine. They still can't find any of the twelve wastebaskets in the house, nor have they figured out what that mystical lever on the toilet tank does. But, otherwise, they're peachy. School finally resumed Tuesday after a week off for Snowmageddon 2014 and Monday's scheduled holiday. It's a good thing, too. All that forced togetherness had me wondering how much I could get on the black market for a curly-haired Instagram addict and a tall, skinny kid who eats more than all the morbidly obese toddlers on Maury combined.

As we were leaving for school this morning, I noticed a bike on our neighbors' front lawn.

Me: "Is that your bike?"
Son: "No."
Me: "Are you sure?"
Son: "I'm not 100% sure."
Me: "THEN GET OUT OF THE CAR AND GO LOOOOOOK!"
Son: "Oh, OK."

The punchline: Daughter put Son's bike in our innocent neighbors' yard in retaliation for Son putting her iPod on top of my car. Isn't that hilarious? I laughed at an unnaturally high volume for a full minute. Those little jokesters of ours!

They both had soccer practice Monday night. Drop offs at 7:00 and 7:30 at two different fields went smoothly. In between the 8:00 and 9:00 pick-up times, I sat in my car eating leftover, lukewarm Pizza Hut and wondering if you were sleeping well all alone in your quiet hotel room.

Oh, I had to buy daughter new cleats because she inherited your giant feet. Did you know the poor dear can't play well unless she's wearing cute, overly-priced shoes?

Our three Yorkshire Terrorists are living up to their nickname. Old, senile Sassy is still pissing in the house every chance she gets. She stepped up her game today by taking a dump in the living room. And the pups (hmmm ... maybe if we quit calling our 2-year-old dogs "puppies," they'd quit behaving like puppies) are still absconding with everything that isn't nailed down. Socks, hair bows, expensive American Doll accessories, important papers--anything that fits through the pet door. By the look of the backyard, our goal of starting our own landfill is coming along great.

Don't worry: our vow renewal plans are going swimmingly. My seamstress is soooooo creative. She's doing all sorts of things I never even imagined (or asked for). You won't see my dress until we're on the beach celebrating 15 years of wedded bliss. But I think I'll be just as surprised as you are by the finished product.

I don't want to give you the impression things are all bad. Why just an hour ago, I received an email from a lovely gentleman who apparently met me on some beach. Now he wants to give me a cut of $18 mil in unclaimed funds that his deceased customer left behind. No strings attached! I don't know why he picked me. After seeing me in a swimsuit, he probably realized how desperately I need lipo and laser hair removal. Anyway, I better go so I can email him our bank account information.

Ciao, mi amore!