Earlier today, I awoke from my fevered stupor to the sound of doors being slammed and the house being torn apart.
Someone called someone else a “Fat-head Idiot, Giganto Butt” at which time Mr. Hubby threaten to spank both kids and send them to their rooms until they were 30. The yelling continued for quite some time, and it became obvious to me that Mr. Hubby was losing it.
So, I arose from my sick bed to sort out the situation. I exited my room, stepped on a plastic clothes hanger, slid down the hallway, landed in a pile of cut-up paper and crayons coated with some sticky substance, which might have been glue but smelled strangely like maple syrup.
I stood and surveyed the condition of my house – then, I immediately returned to my sickbed and waited for the blessed delirium to overtake me – so that I might dream of house cleaning faeries, who could poof away my laundry, make Barak Obama disappear and turn my family into toads.