By now, most of you know that the Hubby and I work together. We own our own business---which is quite challenging in itself---because after spending WAY too many hours at work, it's not like we can go home at night and "just forget" what went on that day. When you are self-employed, there's no getting away from business.
When I tell people that Hubs and I work together, I usually get one of two reactions. The first usually goes, "OH.MY.GOD! How can you stand it? I could NEVER live AND work with my wife/husband. We would kill each other!"
The second reaction---which is much rarer---is usually, "That's so great! You're working together towards a common goal! You must get along really well!"
If you ask me what I think, I'd say that working with my husband is definitely a plus in my life because he gets me. I can be myself at work and I like that he's not the least bit surprised or annoyed when I hang up the phone after dealing with a "challenging" customer or vendor and hurl f-bombs into the atmosphere.
As a matter of fact, sometimes he even fuels my fire.
Like yesterday, when I hung up the phone and started yelling, "Good Lord! That man is crazy! Crazy, I tell you! I think that mofo son-of-a-b*tch smokes crack!" And my husband yelled back from the other end of the room, "What's that a-hole's problem, now?"
Hahaha. Maybe it's only funny to me. But, I feel validated when he takes my side.
Now, let me just say one thing.
I DO NOT--for one minute--want you all to think that every workday with Hubby is filled with rainbows and unicorns. NOT SO, PEOPLE. Not so, at all.
As a matter of fact, yesterday? I wanted to beat the man into oblivion...and I swear, I AM NOT A VIOLENT PERSON.
Oh sure, I like to talk smack, BUT that's as rough as I usually get.
But, YESTERDAY? Oh, man. I seriously thought about sticking his head under some very dangerous shop equipment...specifically, I thought about zapping him in the noggin with a laser. *FRY, FRY, SIZZLE, SIZZLE*
And what could possibly push me over the edge like that and make me want to maim the man I professed to spend my life with?
I'm not even going to tell you. I'm going to show you, instead. AND? You'd better take my side IF you don't want me to hunt you down and taser your ass.
Here's what got my underwear all bunched up in a knot...
Yesterday, Hubby went out to make a delivery. While I was walking past his desk, I decided to put some of his tools away because I knew he wouldn't need them for the rest of the day. When I started to open up his toolboxes to see where certain wrenches belonged, I found this:
Dudes! WTF is that all about?
He has a damn stash of chocolate bars on steroids!
And did you see that they all say KING SIZE and LARGE SIZE?
What's the friggin deal? NORMAL FUGGIN SIZE candy bars won't do?
So, when he came back from delivering crap to a customer, I called him on it!
I was all, Dude! What is the meaning of this shit? We (meaning ME) can't have those in here! You need to get rid of those chocolate bars right now!
And do you know what the little bastard did??????
He walked over, grabbed a Kit Kat, and started munching on it saying, "OK. I'll start by getting rid of this one first!"
*STAB, STAB, STAB...PUNCH, PUNCH, PUNCH...TASER, TASER, TASER*
All I'm saying is he'd better heed my warning and get that shit out of my work environment ASAP. Because as the sign says:
He is in some seriously fuggin danger right now.