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Yesterday I decided that in 90 degree temperatures, I was going to detail both the Hubster’s car and my SUV. Obviously, I suffered some sort of mental breakdown. The blame should fall on the Hubster, he drove the cars through a car wash and the inside looked so dirty in comparison that I had to act.

So I’m outside, sweating, as I work tirelessly to wipe everything down. Like a bunch of morons, the Hubster and I love our Fords to have black interiors with black leather. It requires a hell of a magical touch to keep that stuff looking good. You have to clean the plastic parts, clean the leather. Then you have to condition it all. Vacuuming makes you want to shank your eyes out because the black carpet attracts everything.

My neurotic personality shouldn’t have to put up with this assault.

After two and a half hours I am calling it quits. Hubster had already finished with whatever project he was working on and went into the house to shower. I gather up all the cleaning gear and head to the house. And the door is locked.

MOTHERFUCKER!! But I held it together and tried the side door. Locked. HUUUUUUUUUBSTEEEEEER!!

I start furiously ringing the doorbell. I know there is no chance the Hubster will hear this over the shower, but I know Lola will sound the alarm to save her Mommybeast. And frankly I was too irritated to care, it made me feel better to viciously punch that stupid button.

Hubster comes barreling down the hallway, dripping all over, and starts apologizing profusely. He knows that after missing lunch, performing manual labor for hours, and sweating like a maniac in 90 degree temperatures, I am not going to be on my best behavior.

The man was smart to sense his looming death.

I head down the hallway and stop because my foot lands in a soaking wet spot where Hubster ran on the carpet. Lola hits another footprint and starts sniffing. She decides to sit on the spot she found and pretend she peed on the carpet in order to save her Daddybeast’s life.


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