Last night I had to run to the grocery store to get something for supper. Not only do I suck at cooking and cleaning, but I must also suck at making grocery lists because we always seem to run out of food by Wednesday. It was cold and dark and I didn’t want to go, so I might have gotten a little dramatic about the whole thing.

Me: “I’m going to buy a chicken. I’ll be right back, unless I run out of gas or the truck dies. Then I’ll be stranded and freezing and I’ll have to burn the truck’s seats to stay warm. Maybe even the tires.”

Him: “It’s a mile and a half to the grocery store, there’s constant traffic, it’s twenty degrees and you have roadside assistance. Do not burn my truck.”

Me: “How come you always say it’s our truck until I want to set it on fire, and then it’s your truck?”

Him: “The truck is mine.”

Me: “Oh, because you have a penis, the truck’s yours by default?”

Him: “Weren’t you going to buy a chicken?”

Me: “Yes, because I don’t have a penis, I have to go get the chicken, but I’m getting a precooked one from the deli so I’ll have something to eat when I’m freezing on the side of the road because roadside assistance came and I made them save your truck first because I’m noble like that.”

What followed was a string of words that, if on network television, would sound something like…

Beep beep beep noble beep beep truck beep beep beep beep beep chicken beep beep beep beep beep make a beep grocery list like a beep beep beep normal beep person beep beep.

Epilogue: I made it all three miles without setting the truck on fire or eating the chicken.

Epilogue 2: My husband had his checkup yesterday and his blood pressure’s a little high. I think the people he works with are annoying him.