I can’t share this anywhere but here. Went out for dinner 2 nights ago with SIL and BIL. Got home in a dark driveway, and I tripped through some nasty ground-level brambles that had the tops of my feet bleeding and my DH laughing at me because I am a classic klutz.
I couldn’t let go of my anger at his amusement over my injuries. He had a baseball bat zucchini on the kitchen counter with a recipe for stuffing it with a bunch of stuff. He fell asleep and I pitched it out into the garden. Knocked over a teak bench.
I came to my senses, again in the dark, to search for said zucchini because I didn’t want The War of the Roses, bruised a rib and crawled back into the house. This morning, they were all looking for the giant zucchini, couldn’t find it. Finally they went for breakfast.
I located said vegetable. I cut the end off of it that was impaired by I don’t want to know what critter. I halved it, scooped it out, chopped the flesh, put it in the fridge. He thanked me for prepping it for him.
I’m a fucking wimp. I hate myself.