August 16, 2013

Jiminy Crickets!

Wednesday night. Milwaukee Brewers vs. Texas Rangers. A game that not only predicted rain, but also one that started AT the kids' bedtime, interrupted my plans to finish a painting, and brought out an obnoxiously stubborn side of Rob. He WAS going. And he WAS going with the kids. And if I felt like being a sorry loser (my words, not his), then I could stay home and not join the family or our friends he had invited. So I went. Mostly because I didn't want to leave my friend Kim high and dry, but also because it was dollar hot dog night and I was fairly certain someone would throw up on the way home if I wasn't implementing some hot dog eating regulations.


Questionably Illustrated Events:

Worst moms ever.

Worst friend ever.

Other worst friend ever.

* Repeat scene 19 times over for the next two hours. *

WRONG, KIM. Because it was raining. It was raining crickets. And it was raining poisonous drops of my acidic disdain for Rob, his baseball plans, and the $3 seats he purchased.

Our family of four downed 15 hot dogs. I cut off Jannika at 3, the vendor cut off Rob at 7, and there was no vomit on the way home. There was a stray cricket on my hand, however, which caused me to almost punch Kim's husband in the throes of my screaming panic...but no vomit.

Want more? Like illustrations? Love regulations?
Best. Wife. Ever.


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