I think I am PMSing. What else could make me so crabby? I just stubbed my toe and was actually angry at my own foot for a few seconds. After which, I directed my anger towards the true culprit...my desk. Stupid desk!
Brad called and said he was coming home to make a hamburger for lunch (which is what he had for breakfast/lunch at 10:30, so I assumed he had exhausted that food group for the day), and I told him that I had used all the rest of it making lunch for Cliff and myself. He then said "That whole pound of ground beef only made 3 hamburgers?" And I said "Yes" because, that is, in fact, exactly how many THAT particular pound made. So, then he does the pitiful "Well, I'll figure out something when I get there." Like, how am I supposed to know he wanted nothing but hamburgers to eat all day? I promise you if I eat a hamburger at 10:30, I will NOT be sniffing around for a second one at 1:30.
I will say in his defense, that I was a little more pissy about it all than he was. Thus, my conclusion remains...PMS. Fingers crossed that my husband makes it thru alive...
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