Spoiled Rotten

Let me just pause and take a moment to acknowledge that I am spoiled rotten.

For all his faults – including, but not limited to, being the occasional ass – Bryan really does go hog wild when it comes to making my life easier (except when he hands me the phone for a long distance call then leaves me in a small enclosed space with a crying baby and a screaming toddler who is jumping on the bed. That’s not easy).

Maybe I just need to read that book about the five love languages that everyone talks about because I may not get foot massages every night, but he provides for me in countless ways that I never knew I needed.

And I’m okay with spending money on me because my man Brings It Home.

Bringing it home is especially useful on this, the day my washing machine decides to go on strike. Despite the fact that I secretly stalk the appliance department at Fry’s for new domestic toys (does that sound dirty?) while Bryan is geeking it out in the video equipment isle, I had nothing to do with this breakdown. She just quit spinning.

I will make the obligatory call to the Sears repair guy, and it will probably just need a belt replaced, but I will forever know that I was THIS close to getting a new machine.

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