Did you ever have one of those days when, no matter how hard you work, you just can't get the house clean because your children are following right behind you pulling everything out again? Have you had a day that, no matter how many obstacles you've put up to prevent it, the damn dog keeps getting into the litter box and eating cat poo, and the kids keep running screeching away from him calling him Mr. Pooples, and the dog looks sad because everyone is afraid of his poop-mouth? Have you had a day when you wished your kids would run away already? Have you had a day where you call your husband at work to explain that the whole marriage/kid thing was nice for awhile but you have to move to some desert island somewhere where very muscular men with names like Ramon can rub lotion all over you while you enjoy the blissful silence?
Stop lying you know you have. I have too. It was today as a matter of fact, and while I am still here it's only because Mr. Hobbitfeet left work an hour early and rushed home so I wouldn't walk out the door to start my new life as the sex mistress of Ramon and his island buddies.
But then again, after an hour of putting up with it, he went outside mumbling about needing to cut the grass, so my island life is still not all that improbable.
7 hours ago