So, My guy is back from his work trip - and not a moment too soon.
I don't mean to be all old-school patriarchal and "Just wait until your father gets home!" But duuuuuuude.
I stayed up late one night making My Guy a birthday cake. He wanted a caramel cake with canned caramel frosting. I could do so much better, but if the birthday boy wants boxed cake with canned frosting, that's what he's gonna get.
The next day when he got home, he sent me a few really random texts:
"I'm so sorry."
"Like 3 inches of cake left."
I thought he got home and ate the cake. But no. The labradoodles had catapulted onto the kitchen counter and scored the birthday cake. The 2-layer birthday cake that was at the very way-back of the counter.
It had been a really, really long day, but I stopped at the store on my way home. They had another caramel cake mix, but not caramel frosting. I guessed German chocolate frosting was as close as I could get, and I ran to the express lane.
There was one lady in front of me. She wrote a check.
By the time I got home, I threw the cake mix at My Guy. "It's not the cake you want, but I did just beat an old lady to death with this box."
We went out for dinner and delayed the cake redux.
The next day, the labradoodles got into the bread drawer. They ate an entire loaf of 8-grain bread, 3 hamburger buns, half a bag of pretzels, and half a bag of Tostitos.
There was vomit. And wrapping. Everywhere.
So, we've got some dogs that need to cut out the carbs. And the assholery.
Yeah, it's a word.
The 1 upside? We didn't have a star on our Christmas tree. Now, there's a lovely Tostitos bag shard adorning the top of the tree.
We have the only house on the block that doesn't have Christmas lights. If our neighbors only knew the level of classiness inside ...