First He Steals My Twinkies, Now He's Gunning For My Dreams...

It was because Hubby tripped over the mountains of liquor boxes. Had he managed to stay on two feet, I'm positive he wouldn't have said a thing. But of course, he landed on his butt and decided to squash my dreams.

"We need to talk," he said, glowering at me from the floor.

"No." I shook my head. "I don't want to talk. Your talks are always bad. You're never like, ohhhh, I think you should buy more shoes. Or, herrrrreeee, go buy a new handbag. No. Your talks suck."

He ignored me. "We can't live like this. You need to stop."

"No."

"You need to unpack everything."

Over my dead body. He doesn't want to move, fine. But I'm willing it into being. Sort of like a Field of Dreams thing. I'm packing up all our stuff, so the new house will come. As a matter of fact, I have another run to make to the liquor store today. I still have the basement to pack up.

"Leave me alone," I said. "Can't you see I'm manifesting my destiny? So go away."

"What you're doing is nuts. Seriously, we can't go on like this."

Well, no. He's right. We can't. And that's the idea.

"Look. Just find me a new house and it's not a problem. But I'm not living here anymore. I refuse." I pointed to the cat. "See? Even the cat doesn't want to live here anymore. He's moved into the Chi-Chi's Margarita box and refuses to come out."



And personally, I'd take a Chi-Chi's box. He seems very happy...