Scott and I got in a fight last night.
One of my biggest pet peeves about social media is everyone making themselves look good. I’m not talking about the filters of Instagram or the jokes on Twitter. I’m talking about the relationship vows of undying love for your spouse or partner.
“Happy Anniversary to my rock, my love, and my everything. You amaze me every day and you push me to be better when I want to give up. I don’t have the words to express how much you mean to me. You’re perfect. Happy Anniversary!”
I call bullshit.
Sure. Yes. Scott is my rock, my love, and my everything to keep me sane too. He’s also a giant pain in my ass and I went to bed with deer blood caked under my fingernails and I smelled like iron.
I’m not saying I’m the perfect wife and I win all the arguments. I am not and I don’t. I’m a pain in Scott’s ass too.
Scott was on a plane last night. He was flying to Kansas City from Philadelphia. The flight included wifi so he was able to receive all my nagging texts at 30,000 feet somewhere above Indiana.
Me: YOU JACKASS. There’s blood leaking all down the fridge!!!
Me: It’s like to the point of being caked on.
Scott: WTF happened?
Scott: How did it get through the trash bag?
Let me back up for a second.
Scott shot a buck a few days ago. Before Scott left for his trip, he placed a trash bag filled with ziplock baggies containing his deer chunks in the refrigerator. He told me he needed the deer chunks to thaw out before he got home.
Fine, Scott. It’s called venison.
The trash bag full of venison took up half the refrigerator. The only thing left on my to-do list for the night was to find a spot in the refrigerator for the kids’ lunch boxes. I was close to the finish line. My bed and a bowl of ice cream was minutes away. I picked up the trash bag to see if I could make room. That’s when all bloody hell broke loose.
Back to my texting rage.
Scott: How did it get though the trash bag?
Scott: I’m making it into jerky tomorrow.
Me: Oh, hello period blood.
Scott: I would throw up.
Me: Period blood made your babies.
Scott: Why is there so much blood? I put it in ziplocks and then a trash bag.
Me: I don’t know but it’s also inside the drawers and I’m not cleaning this shit anymore.
Scott: I’ll clean it up tonight.
Scott: Why do you keep sending me pics?
Me: Your jerky is going to smell and taste like lavender Febreze-scented trash bags.
Me: I’m sending you pics of the blood inside the fruit drawer.
Me: I had to triple bag your leaky bag. Blood is everywhere. It’s a murder scene in here now.
Scott: Is the meat still semi-frozen?
Me: I’d say no with this amount of blood. Like a damn period.
Me: Now your triple-bagged-lavender-Febreze deer chunks is sitting on our kitchen floor because now I have to clean the fridge.
Scott: Ok, I’ll cook it tomorrow.
Me: YOU’RE WELCOME.
Me: I had to pull the whole tray out because this piece of glass doesn’t come out. I don’t know how I’m going to get this blood out.
Scott: Thank u.
Scott: I TOLD YOU I’D CLEAN IT TONIGHT!!!!
Me: Don’t believe you. And you don’t know how to clean right.
Me: You owe me a box of tampons for this.
Scott: Maybe if you spent time cleaning it instead of texting me a play-by-play you’d be done.
Me: I like texting you my personal hell. I’m just saying the grocery store would never do this to me. The grocery store has their meat in nice, neat sealed packages for my convenience. We are not a butcher shop. Have fun putting the fridge back together.
Scott: You’re so nice.
Me: Thank you. The deer think so.
Me: I need tampons. Stop and get me some after you land.
And that is why Scott is my rock, my love, and my everything. I clean up his bloody mess and he gets me tampons.