Karmic Retribution

My husband has told me numerous times that the best part of my blog is the comments, and I really can't argue him that fact.  You people?  You're funny. You're clever.  You're vindictive as all get-out.  Sci Fi Dad will almost always leave a comment that is funnier that anything I've ever hoped to say, and that's just one example.  The Donor and I both love reading the comments and even though I am the suckiest blog comment responder in the whole entire world, don't think I don't read them all with my husband every night when he comes home.  It's sort of our thing.

That Valentine's Day post?  The comments were not his favorite.  He says I have to vindicate him.  He pays for the internet connection, and so I oblidge.  Also, I only folded half the laundry today.  Penance is a bitch.

(I will add, in my defense, that since I totally threw him under this bus on this post, he's teased me incessantly with the threat of a Valentine's Day bouquet of broccoli.  If I was especially good, maybe he'd throw some asparagus in there for good measure.  And I've secretly hoped for that, because really?  Hilarious.  So worth it.  All I wanted was some damn BROCCOLI.)

Three hours after the idiot email, he emailed again and said, "Oh, and you looked really hot."  Many, many hours later he came home from his 14 hour day at work and collapsed.  Several hours later I awoke and totally taunted him with the fact that I'd taken a weed-whacker to the more delicate areas of my body after, oh, months of neglect, and then left him high and dry.  He actually sat up in bed and mustered a "What. The. Fuck?" before he passed back out.
I came downstairs, feeling quite smug, to this:

valentines day oopsie

Yes, he'd managed to squeeze 5 minutes in his very busy fourteen hour workday to go get me something.  I am a jerk.

Inside that bag were all the candies I shouldn't have because I'm trying to be on a diet, because he loves me just the way I am, all squishy and floppy.  I am an asshole.  And when I looked deep into the bag, I found this, way at the bottom, under everything else.

Pocket Full of Kryptonite

Twizzlers.  My all-time favorite candy.  Raise your hands if you're already laughing.

The rest of you can take one guess as to what my kryptonite is, the one substance that will knock my on my ass with migranes so bad I go blind and my whole body twitches like I'm having a seizure and the nails, they get hammered into my skull through both eye sockets, all the temples and in the back of my neck.  That's right, red food coloring. Twizzlers are my favorite candy in the whole world, and I can have them about as much as I can drink a nice, tall glass of bleach.

I laughed so hard, I cried a little.  He got his little dig in.  Either he was an asshole because he forgot, or he was just an asshole.  It was comic GOLD.  And that was the best Valentine's Day present I ever could have asked for.