Green goo and Barbies -- you know you want to read this one

Last night, while Hubs was reading the kids their second bedtime story, I decided to throw in a load of laundry.

The new bottle of detergent, however, refused to open.

I ran it under hot water, banged it against the kitchen counter a few times, hoping to loosen it up, but no luck.

And thus began this conversation with myself:

I'll just go get Hubs to open it.

Why? Used to be a time when you dealt with this sort of thing on your own. Because, you know, you were an independent woman who didn't have to run to Hubs with a detergent bottle or a jar of spaghetti sauce or ...

OK, OK, I get the point. But the damn thing won't OPEN.

Well bang it against the counter again. You've got to regain your self-sufficiency. No need to depend on the Man of the House. So show me you've still got it. Open the detergent.

At this point, Hubs is interrupted in his reading by all the clamoring in the kitchen.

BANG! BANG! BANG!

And then ...

"Oh, shit!"

"What happened?" he asked dashing into the kitchen, where he immediately hydroplaned across the tile floor.

"What the hell?" he gasped, looking at the neon-green goo that covered the floor and cabinets.

"This looks like a scene out of Ghostbusters."

"Well, I was trying to open this detergent, and it ... well, it broke."

Hubs rolled his eyes.

It took several rounds of vinegar and towels before we concluded that our floor no longer had the surface of an ice rink.

As we sprawled on the couches with our glasses of wine, he asked, "Why didn't you bring that to me? I would have opened it for you."

And Premenstrual Cathy snarled, "Why should I be forced to go to a MAN to do something I should be able to do myself?! Grrr."

Hubs, focusing immediately on the telltale snarl, wisely dropped the subject.


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In other news, I am now in possession of the slutty Barbie pics. I'm thinking about posting them elsewhere so that you won't open up this here Site of Maternal Serenity and get blasted by pictures of Barbie romping with various partners on the couch. First, however, I have a technical glitch that will require B.'s assistance. (having trouble opening most of the photos -- B., if you're reading this - help!)

Ooh, and maybe just for fun, I'll set up a little Q&A with B. and you guys can hear for yourselves how all this came to pass.

(He is not, however, allowed to describe how I tripped and fell on my face for no apparent reason in downtown Memphis.)

All right, I'm up way past my already-late bedtime.

Photos tomorrow. Somewhere.