I bought a 99 cent box of brownie mix (luxury) to enjoy this week (cure my hell) while I move towards (spiral to the depths of hell) my period. I don't find great pleasure in much during this time and I look forward to sitting in my chair, with a big bowl of brownie batter. I might bake up half (or whatever is left).
Being a bit crabby today (my head was spinning 360 degrees and I vomited green stuff all over the curtains while pulling the hair out of my dog's ass one by one to hear him howl) my husband decided to make a peace offering.
I should have sensed the box being opened; the contents being emptied. I should have smelled the chocolate being formed in the bowl and poured into a pan. I should have known the oven door was opened for MY desecrated brownies.
But alas, I didn't know until it was too late. And he brought me literally a half a teaspoon's worth to lick off the spatula. Needless to say I ran to the stove, cursing all the way. I grabbed the pan in a furry and was left with a scorched middle finger... to which I prominently have displayed in my husband's direction as it cools.
The BASTARD.
Might I mention my husband's threatened my computer unless I write in this Statement eau Brownie Stealing Joy Sucking Dickhead-o that he didn't KNOW that's what I bought the brownies for. :ikely story. Hasn't he seen me before trying desperatley to suck life into the organic, yogurt No-Pudge Brownies? Ohh and he just KNEW I was going to blog this... as if I have nothing better to do than blog all day.
So rise up, girls. Grab your brownie batter and eat all ya want. My joy may be gone, but yours can be just beginning.
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