Pissy & Pissier

I am so ticked off. I had a crappy night. It wasn't suppose to be that way. Everything was good until I asked my husband if he could bring me a Diet Coke. Like it would fucking kill him, he says "why do you always do that to me?" Seriously! I just asked for a soda! Then when I balked back he got all ticked off and started slamming things around the kitchen. Whatever. In the end I apologized but totally didn't mean it! What the heck, I seriously only asked with a big cheesy wife smile for a Diet Coke. He was standing up in the doorway and I had just sat down to the computer. Errr.

Great, so then he says he is going to bed. Fine. Go. Then he takes at least a hour freaking shower. By the time he is done I am already in bed, reading. Then when he finally gets to bed he is tossing and turning. He wakes up all sweaty, he moans and groans. He turned the AC down to record lows and freezes me out. By this point I was sure my cold shoulder was making the bed a glacier anyway, but no, he has to waste even more money and make a big huffy puffy show of turning down the AC and complaining that the sheets are wet on his side of the bed. So fucking gross. Needless to say I didn't fall asleep. I couldn't; he actaully fell right back to sleep but he was so restless that every time I moved even slightly he'd wake up and whine about it. Eventually I ended up downstairs drinking warm milk and falling asleep to old Cheers re-runs sometime after 2:00.

He woke me up, on his way out the door sometime around six. Four hours of sleep. Four.

What the frick? I apologize when I didn't do anything. He is all high and mighty and doesn't even acknowledge that maybe he could have just gotten me a drink without complaining? I suppose four fitful hours of sleep has done very little for my levels of grace. Whatever. C has camp in a little while. After I take him over there I am just going to run on the treadmill and then get my own icy cold Diet Coke.