I know it’s been awhile. Apparently, recovering from a cross-country move took more out of me than I thought it was going to, then I plunged into doing NaNoWriMo. For those who don’t know what that is, its National Novel Writing Month. The goal is to write 50,000 words between Nov 1st and Nov 30th.
How’d I do?
So, kicked it…but only about halfway through my first rough draft. Working away on that still, albeit slower than in November. Christmas, and all that jazz, amIright? Oy.
I’ll catch up on the Christmas Chaos soon, but for today…Snack Food of Strife.
Wolf and I have been having an ongoing battle when it comes to munchies. I blame him.
See, it started back when we were first married. He quickly discovered that the best defence is a good offense. If he wanted to be sure there was munchies left that the kids (and maybe me) hadn’t scarfed down when he wasn’t paying attention, the best option was to get something that nobody else in the house would eat.
The man drinks grapefruit pop, folks. Or, at least he WILL, if only to ensure that he can count on there being pop when he wants it. Nobody else is nuts enough to drink that crap.
Recently, I had myself a minor tanty (love that word, honestly. I forget where I picked it up, but it’s slang for tantrum) because he’d scarfed down the last of the Cheesies in the freaking house.
Look, when you’re a one-handed writer, having snacks you can eat, also one-handed, is part of your writing needs. I need snacks, dang it. Consider it brain fuel.
And he ate them all.
Was. Not. Pleased. Especially when I don’t drive, so it’s not like I can just whip out and pick up more.
And, since I’m not pregnant, he doesn’t either.
When I was pregnant, the man would run out the door like his hair was on fire if I had a craving.
He claims it was self-defence. Apparently, pregnant women are hormonally crazy. And scary. Or at least I was. So he says.
I have no recollection of that at all. I was sunshine and light, damn it. Just like always.
Discovered a new bag of cheesies in the pantry last night. Yay!
Until I read the label. Jalepeno cheesies.
What fresh hell is this?
They couldn’t be that bad, right?
So, I grabbed some, and Boo took a couple.
Holy shit weasels.
They were TERRIBLE.
“Wolf, what the holy hell is this crap?”
“These aren’t cheesies, they’re Satan cheesies! Cheesies of Mass Destruction! Punishment snacks! Snacks of Strife!”
He gave me that look. The one that says I’m being a wee bit irrational, but he loves me and is patient. I always want to smack him when he looks at me like that. “Most people don’t consider cheesies to be weapons.”
“Most people haven’t tried this stuff! Boo cried!”
It was true. Boo popped one in his mouth, chewed, spewed chunks of cheesies all over the floor, and danced around shrieking, “YUCK! EWWW! YUCK!” and burst into tears.
“I didn’t think they were that bad. You just can’t eat more than a few at a time is all.”
“This is another one of those, ‘buy this, and nobody else will eat them thing’ isn’t it?!”
The look on his face confirmed it.
I’m going out tomorrow and buying some regular cheezies, and hiding them. He can keep his Snack Food of Strife.
The rest of us will keep our taste buds intact.
And nose hairs.