The Ruffles Defense

I am in a tizzy.  In fact, I’m so riled up that not even homemade potato salad, a brownie, and a cranberry juice mocktail can calm me down.  Someone here at casa de Mitchell (Hint: It was neither Doc nor Squishy) ate not only the last of the potato chips but also the last of the ice cream while someone else was at work today.

Now, I’m not naming names, but just to be clear, that person may not be in possession of his/her eyebrows any longer so thorough was the rain of hellfire that descended upon him/her this afternoon.

On some base, philosophical level I’m a bit sad that the absence of potato chips and ice cream at our house is enough to trigger what may have been the screechiest conversation of my entire life.  I mean really, what am I?  Some kind of animal with no sense of shame or propriety, incapable of anything so complex as perspective and self-control?

On the other hand: Ruffles.

In other, less homicidal news, this weekend brought with it a very special occurence: Wes’ birthday!  He’s now living the last year of his twenties and we’re determined to do it up right.  We figure a career change and new baby ought to send his twenties off with a bang.  Heck, why don’t we buy a new house while we’re at it?  Let’s see how many changes and transitions we can cram into the last year of Wes’ twenties before he starts prematurely aging.

Oh my gosh, I think it really behooves me to stop typing now.  I’m obviously not over my chip-induced rage (Learn well, readers: Don’t ever assume a pregnant woman doesn’t want something.  If it’s salty, crunchy, sweet, cold, hot, or edible, chances are excellent she will cut you if you take the last one) so I’m going to hug the puppy until he passes out from a heat stroke or until I start feeling lovey-dovey again.

Obviously it needs to be noted that whoever ate the chips and ice cream is still awesome and completely cool.  I share this story not to make fun of the completely (un)anonymous person but, rather, to make fun of myself for how out of touch with reality and exceedingly ridiculous I’ve become.  Right then.  As you were.

2 thoughts on “The Ruffles Defense

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