(Warning: This post contains references to a book series by Karen Marie Moning about intensely sexy Highlanders who consistently struggle with their inner selves about seducing the women they meet in the books (and the women struggle with keeping their hands off these kilt-laden sex gods), but of course each Highlander is destined to be with his woman, his one true mate, and there's actually a plot, I swear!...my husband laughs and teases me incessantly about reading said books.)
Ok, so sometimes my husband pisses me off and I really want to give him a piece of my mind. However, I know how long my bad moods last (about 5-10 minutes usually, before I'm over it...Lithium, anyone?). So instead of calling my husband and going off on him after he left for work, or catching him before he left to work to have it out, I decided to send him a threatening text, knowing that in a few minutes we would be joking with each other anyway. Our conversation in text follows:
Me: Divorce!
Him: It's 8am!
Me: I know! The courthouse is open for business biatch!
Him: You know the kids will want to stay with me, right?
Me: Haha whatever...you work too much and in ur spare time do your other hobbies! No time for them! I'm sick of double standards and rules, oh and thanks for shaving all over my sink that I just cleaned...shave over YOUR sink!
Him: I would have but someone didn't let my shaver charge before they put it away, so I had to leave it plugged in. Oh, and I can just let my sister raise them. How's that for non double standards
Me: Whatever. One of these days you are going to come home and all your stuff is going to be sold...that's all. Have a great day. Love you!
Him: Use the money for a single, one way bus ticket, babe.
Me: Ha! I'll use it for my and the kids' flights to SCOTLAND! Should pay for that and leave me money to live off for a few years.
Him: Just don't come crawling home when your Highlander comes out of the closet wearing a skirt and playing his boyfriend's bagpipe!
Me: Hehehehehe whatever! Okay, I'll buy YOU a kilt.
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