Those Are Not Chips!

I was up and out of  the house early today.  MUCH earlier than I’ve had to be for a couple of months now.  I’m not a morning person by design, so it’s never much fun for me.  Today I had to get to the renal specialist to see if I’m “fit to be released for duty” blah blah blah.  After that I had to go for blood work (for same reason), stopped off to see Buck on his lunch, made a drop at Goodwill from stuff we weren’t keeping after the move…and finally home again, to do a little cleaning before Phreddy gets in tonight.

I was excited to go home for several reasons.

1. OMG I FEEL LIKE A ZOMBIE.  I now remember why I want to win the lottery most.  This is how I feel every single day I have to go to work.  I’m totally missing the “get up early” gene – and when I have to, I feel as though I’m PHYSICALLY dragging myself through the day.  All day.  EVERY.  DAY.
2. While I was at my game last night, Craig pulled out the nice black matchy matchy dish-not-washer, and replaced it with the less matching white dish washer from our old house, which – get this – ACTUALLY WASHES THE DISHES!!  The dish washer fiasco really is a separate story in and of itself (which I hope to find the motivation to put up here for ya’ll, because really, I don’t find I’m being TOO overly critical when my expectations are that dishes not come out dirtier than when I put them IN!).  So while the kitchen looks goofy, I can now start running loads of dishes, instead of washing them all by hand…with icky chemicals to undo the damage of them having been in the dish ruiner…chemicals which then need to be washed off as well….as if I’m a cave woman.
3. OMG I FEEL LIKE A ZOMBIE!!!

So I get home to find that Copper has been scratching at the sore under his eye (yet another stand alone story, less interesting, no blog will follow) and it’s just oozing junk.  Ick.  At this point we’re pretty sure the antibiotics are doing their thing, and we’ve drained as much ick from it over the last several days as it’s going to yield – meaning it’s best now if it just scabs over and tries to heal.  Well that’s not happening with Mr Scratch-a-lot.  So I call the vet and ask if they can fit him for a cone of shame, grab the dog and head back into town (ish).

Now, here’s where we start to get into the point of all of this (like I would leave you guys without setup information…new here much?).  By the time I got back home, I had an auction that was about an hour away from ending.  As I’m checking that, and trying to do a few last minute things before we leave for vacation next week, my stomach begins to complain loudly about having missed lunch.  Don’t ask me why – there’s a good 3 years worth of nourishment on my hips that the rest of my body could live quite comfortably off of.  Even my innards are lazy.  Sad.

It occurs to me that there is still some leftover Touchdown Taco Dip in the fridge from the party on Saturday.  If you’ve never had it, your life is not yet complete.  It’s unfortunate for you.  If you’ve had it, you know that it would make a FINE missed lunch, midday snack.  So I lug my tubby derriere into the kitchen, and scoop some of the yummy dip into a bowl to pop into the microwave.  Next I go to the pantry to pull out the chips.

Aaaaannnnd we’ve arrived at the point.  Let me show you what my very cute hubby, has put back into the pantry after his snack of chips and salsa last night…..

I added the quarter so you’d have some perspective on the size of these……chipletts.  Why do boys do these things?

THESE ARE NOT CHIPS!

Is there some kind of sentimental value these crumbs hold over men, that they should get such a stay of execution?!  What the hell am I going to dip these with…tweezers?

All I could do was shake my head and throw them in the garbage, as I opened a beautiful bag of huge, hand sized chips.

Mmmmm….Touchdown Taco Dip….

Boys are very odd creatures indeed.  Especially to live with.