Taco Box

As some of you may know, when I get really, really mad at someone, they are in a good position to get the "taco box". This phrase stirikes fear in the hearts of all who live in my house! It originated from an unfortunate incident where I lost my temper at Todd in front of the children and struck him with a box of taco shells. In my defense, the box was empty and when I say "struck" I really mean threw it at his back, not like I smacked him in the face or anything. Although, had he been facing the other way...

Anyway, ever since this incident, which resulted in everyone laughing at me, not spousal abuse, I say, "Stop doing that or I'll go taco box!". It's become an excellent way of letting people know when I've reached my absolute limit and can tell I'm about to snap! I find that it's far more constructive and effective that some of the other fits of rage that I've had. There was the door slamming that resulted in my being trapped in our bedroom because I banged the door so hard that it came INSIDE the door jam and "locked" me in. There was the tantrum at Easter that resulted in Todd and me missing not only church, but the entire meal after church. And, his whole family knew about what was going on. And, they were guests at my house for the weekend. Then, there was the best fit of all. One night, after failing to order me cheese dip and not taking the offense "seriously", I decided to burn up the patio umbrella. Yes, I did. I mean, I DECIDED to burn it, but did not actually succeed. That coating they put on the fabric is apparently "fire proof". I say "fire proof" instead of "fire retardant" because I REALLY tried. If you could've burned that thing, I would have! Feeling even madder because it didn't work, I just threw some potted plants into the pool for good measure and called it a night.

Now, those of you reading this can judge if you like, but I know equally crazy stories for the majority of you! If I don't know them, I'm sure I could dig them up from your nearest and dearest! My point is this: Sometimes we spend and inordinate amount of time bitching, and yes, it's bitching, about our husbands. And, yes, they should help more and not be shitheads and order cheese dip and all that, BUT...

What if they were like us? I mean, not what if they were women, but, what if they were as verbal and organized as we are? What if they wrote blogs about the frustrations THEY felt from living with US? What in the hell would those blogs say?!? I'd be terrified of some of the things Todd could tell!

So, I'm not advocating that we should stop the bitching, but we could try and remember that although fascinating, we may not be the easiest creatures to live with. Next time you're picking up his dirty socks or taking ANOTHER dirty dish to the sink, maybe remember the times he's wanted to say something about YOUR behavior, but didn't. Out of fear or respect or whatever, he kept his feelings to himself. He just rolled his eyes, scooped that dirt out of the pool, and kept on trucking! He's probably just glad he didn't get "the taco box"!