As the title may or may not imply, this post is brought to you by yet another one of my epic meltdowns. It wasn't one of my signature "I weigh more than both our cars combined/My baby maker is a giant piece of useless crap/I haven't had a solid poo in weeks" tantrums. Oh no. This one started out purely hunger based.
It was near dinner time, and neither I or Shawn had eaten anything since breakfast. With the exception of a handful of Fruities. Or 4 handfuls. Whatever. Point is, I was hungry, and when I'm hungry, I turn into the crankiest ass hole on the planet. Anything and everything that anyone does somehow becomes the most irritating thing in the history of ever. My husband is no exception. In fact, most of my wife points are earned from the hunger tirades that get taken out on him. Sometimes when Shawn notices I'm being snippy, he'll get enough courage to ask me if I want a sandwich, which - depending on the severity of my hunger - can either go really well for him, orrrr not so well.
I'm not the only one who gets testy when I'm hungry. And even though Shawn's hunger doesn't quite send him flying off the handle, he can be quite the hunger grump too. And now we've come full circle to the beginning of my story. We were both hungry. And we were both ornery as hell. We were both changing into clothes for a wedding reception, and went to open each end of our closet - and because when he has his side open, I can't get to my side - I gave him a hefty eye roll and told him to "Go ahead!"
Now, when I'm mad, I slam doors and drawers and huck pretty much about whatever will make a loud noise across the room. When Shawn is mad, he punches walls. It's our not-so-subtle way of letting each other know, "Hey, don't eff with me right now. Seriously." We've achieved a level of maturity that many couples aspire to.
Anyways. Shawn's hunger took over and must have translated my snotty "Go ahead!" into "Open the closet and die, bitch." So he stormed off and made sure to Hulk smash the wall as hard as he possibly could before going into the other room and turning on the TV.
Shawn sucker punching the wall pushed me over the edge. I screamed at him as he stomped off, and he ignored me. I wasn't about to be outdone by his wall punch. And slamming a door or hucking clothes across the room didn't quite seem to cut it at the time. So, naturally I decided to donkey kick the shi out of our wall - flip flops and all - because kicking is so obviously cooler than punching. I was feeling pretty kickass about my decision right up until my foot went through the wall.
Hunger. Bringing out the 3-year old in a Chelsea and Shawn near you.
As soon as I realized there was an enormous hole that Bob could fit into in our wall, I started sobbing. I ran into where Shawn was and started blubbering, "I'm sorry! I'm sorry! I'm sorry!" I hysterically started to run downstairs to the door, because I guess I was planning on running away or something? So Shawn, obviously extremely startled, keeps asking me what happened over and over and over again. You know, in the 10 seconds he left me alone. I continued sobbing up an absolute monsoon, and apologizing as if I had lit our house on fire - because apparently I was convinced that he was going to divorce me once he saw just how badly I assaulted the wall. So naturally Shawn is all sorts of worried that I stabbed our dog or lobbed his laptop out the window.
I finally take him into our room and just stand there whimpering. Shawn looked at me with a huge "WTF?" look on his face, and then I pointed at the wall. I braced myself for screaming and divorce and more Hulk smashes. Then I heard Shawn laughing. Laughing. He thought the gigantic, gaping hole in our wall was hilarious. He asked me what happened, and I explained to him that I may or may not have kicked the wall a little too hard. I then went on to justify it by saying he punches walls all the time, and his one arm is stronger than both my legs put together, so how had he not punctured walls in the past? Which is when he explained studs to me. Okay, obviously I know about studs. But if I'm pissed enough to ninja kick a wall, I am so not aiming to please.
Anyways, I was immediately relieved that Shawn took it like the amazing husband he is. And he was immediately relieved that I hadn't killed our dog. Shawn was so not pissed, that he even took a reenactment picture.
Then my handyman started cutting up our wall even more. Which, I'm pretty sure he was secretly excited to do. Or that's what I'll keep telling myself, anyways.
He looks so unbelievably pissed in this picture. But he totally wasn't.
And now our bedroom is donning this lovely rectangle.
I told Shawn that the silver lining, if any, was that we could put a bunch of super funny, random crap in there - so if, for whatever reason, someone decides to knock that wall down, or throws a temper tantrum and smashes it in, there will be a super fun surprise down there.
Anyways. We finally got dressed and ate something at the wedding reception. Mini hamburgers and grapes have never tasted so good in my whole entire 24 years of living.
Oh, and my period coincidentally started the very next day. And by coincidentally, I mean it wasn't a coincidence at all. Not even kind of.
So, I think we can all agree that my husband deserves some sort of award, or knighthood, or karate belt. He deals with my hunger almost daily, and then when it lethally combines with PMS, and results in a house repair that he'll have to do, he laughs. That man has the patience of Job. Love you, husband.
Moral of the story? If your woman is hungry. Feed her. Also, if you're going to assault a wall, aim.
Also, don't forget you can still sign up to help us win a free IVF cycle! And if you do, Chelsea love you long time.