Remember this picture from yesterday Queefies?
And the Very Serious Faces we’re wearing?
Well, it ain’t because we’re mentally preparing for Ikea.
It’s because we’re fighting.
Because that’s what we do in the car.
And it’s not that we’re having a disagreement about money or Sexy Time or the raising of the little childrens or the gambling or the Chinese hookers or the blow (okay, well sometimes it’s the hookers, but only because they leave glitter all over his clothes it’s a bitch to get out) (Seriously, it’s all over the washing machine.) (It’s a mess!).
(I’m going through a parentheses phase, yes?)
We fight because I think Mister drives like shit, and he disagrees, but quite honestly, I don’t understand how he can think he’s a good driver when he’s passing people at eleventy hundred miles per hour on the right hand side, waiting until the last possible second to get over and then having to force his way in, and refusing to let other cars get in front of him even if it means getting into an accident because whatever you do, don’t let that motherfucker in, bro.
You da man, Mister.
You da man.
Me: HOLY SHIT DUDE!
Me: I don’t want to get there dead!
Me: You’re driving like an asshole. Do that when your children aren’t in the car, would you? DON’T YOU LOVE THEM????
Mister: Mind your own business.
Me: I’m sorry. Dying in the car is my business.
Mister: One of these days, I’m gonna turn your seat around, I swear to God.
Me: One of these days, I’m gonna just start taking a separate car and when people ask why we never show up together, I’m gonna tell them it’s because you’re always at the ASIAN MASSAGE.
Mister: I’m sure everyone will believe you.
Me: I’m sure they will. You look like the type. By the way, you have glitter on your cheek.
(wipes cheek self-consciously)
Me: Seriously! Cut it out! You’re gonna kill us!
Mister: Actually, I’m hoping it’ll just be you.
Girlfriend: Will you two just shut up? I can’t hear the radio! Daddy, slow down, Mommy BE QUIET!
And then if we’re lucky, we get there before I have an anxiety induced seizure, but you know what is sooooo annoying? Just to make my head explode, he drives the rest of the way veeeerrrrryyyy ssssssslllllooooowwwlllyyyy and I can’t say shit to him because I just yelled at him for going too fast.
It makes me stabby.
Someday there’s going to be a situation, Queefs.
Mark my words.
- It’s Crissy Wants Week!
- There’s a leak in the boiler room
- You’re Skatin’ Me Crazy!!! Oof. That’s a bad title. Embarassing, really.
- Don’t Eff With the Effer!
- Okay, yesterday we learned that there are THREE kinds of people in this world. Those who bring lonely sandwiches, those who bring lunchboxes full of crap, and those who take the whole thing way too seriously (or not seriously enough, depending on how you look at it).