Monday, April 7, 2014



     In 20 years, I can count on one hand the number of times I have nagged Mr. Wonderful. Two weeks ago, I asked him to clean out his magazine basket in the family room. He mumbled something endearing like, “Yeah, yeah.” So I dropped it. I don’t like clutter, so when magazines and newspapers start falling over the side of their container, I regress into my OCD bitch self. 
     I came home yesterday, and low and behold, there was Mr.Wonderful into the chore with both cheeks! Now a normal person would have picked up the basket, set it down on the floor next to a chair or couch and sorted from this position. No, not him. He has a bad back, so this seemed to be the best alternative. wtf. All the blood rushed to his frontal lobe, and I was waiting for the crash that would tatoo Consumer Reports' spring issue across his forehead. Fortunately, that did not happen, and we now have a basketful of just his sports and car magazines with a copy of the fall edition of Victoria Secret nestled in between. He claims that there was something in there that yours truly wanted to buy. Yeah, right.