The Hot Canadian washed my one white shirt with his dark stuff and now it’s the color of a Glasgow sky around 4pm (that sounds romantic, but it’s actually pretty gross). I’m super mad about it because I live out of a suitcase and only have like 6 shirts total and because that’s the one I like to wear when I’m feeling chubby. We’re going on a road trip this weekend and I was planning on an all-Dorito menu for the drive, so this is really a problem.
I’ve never understood why men have such problems doing laundry. You learn colors in Kindergarten. Maybe they all missed that day? THIS HAS HAPPENED TO ME SO MANY TIMES, I WOULD BE GRATEFUL IF SOME OF THE MEN OUT THERE EXPLAINED THIS PHENOMENON TO ME.
It’s a shame, because we were having such a great evening up until about ten minutes ago. I landed a new client today and he took me to this fancy ramen place to celebrate. (I don’t normally do ramen because of all the slurping, but turns out Scottish people are really polite with their noodle-eating, so it worked out alright.)
Now the Dramatically-Less-Hot-Than-Before Canadian is in bed feeling like a jerk and I’m over here in this chair being mean to him in my head (and sort of out loud to a bunch of strangers). He’s leaving the light on while I type even though I know it’s keeping him awake. I don’t need the light, but it makes me feel good that he cares enough to suffer.
Not sure what this says about my relationship skills. Or my ability to communicate my feelings. I don't have appropriate words to express this level of rage, so I’m sending it across the room in telepathic ninja stars, shoop, swipp, fiiowww. I don't know how effective or memorable telepathic ninja stars are, especially when the target is asleep. I want them to burrow deep in his stupid hot muscles so he never forgets how to do my laundry again.
Thankfully, I have a shitty shirt to wear every 6 days as a reminder.