Putative humorist Catherine Lloyd Burns takes seventeen paragraphs to describe what a thoughtless, irresponsible twit her husband is, and two sentences to vaguely hint that she might be a demanding, neurotic control freak. Thus, they're a perfect match.
I wake up to the smell of browning sausages. My sweet husband is at the stove with the cookbook open. I fall in love all over again. Then I look at the bag they came in and do a double take. He didn't buy them from Esposito's. We live in the sausage capital of the world, and my husband may as well have brought back breakfast links from Denny's.
"Adam. Why didn't you buy them at Esposito's?"
"Because I was in the cheese store buying the bread, and they had these, so I thought I'd try them."
"Are they the fennel ones?"
"No. They didn't have the fennel ones."
"You know what, Cathy?" he says throwing the wooden spoon on the counter. "Do it yourself." He goes into his office to seek refuge.
I know he's right. But on the other hand he did bring home inferior sausage product. We're cooking a sausage ragout. Sausage is the main ingredient, and it's corrupted. I knock on his door and try to apologize.
"I'm sorry, honey. I should have just been thanking you. That was so nice of you to do the shopping. Really. I just don't understand how you could not go to Esposito's. It's right next door to the cheese store. When they didn't even have the fennel ones, why didn't you just think to go next door?"
Let this be a lesson to all of us gals: whenever our partners attempt to help out around the house, make sure to find fault with everything they do. That way, they eventually won't do anything at all, the housework will be done to our specifications, and we can happily continue to pursue martyrdom. Everybody wins!