I have seen the face of evil. It haunts my dreams, keeps me up at night, throws wrenches into my carefully laid plans and drags me into pits of broken dreams and teary despair. Everytime I try to get out, it pulls me back in, and the enemy is so smooth, so subtle and ever-changing that I cannot possibly defeat it.
My He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named has a name. It is... ... ...
"The Guys At Work"
*Franny shudders, looks over shoulder*
Whenever I have a dream, "the guys at work" try to take it away. "The guys at work" are very slowly and deliberately dismantling my carefully constructed life. For example:
Me: Honey, would you call the electrician to upgrade the box?
Hubby: No need darling! The guys at work said I could do it myself for half the cost!
Me: I really think we should just buy a new car.
Hubby: Oh you know what the guys at work said? All I need is some duct tape and throat lozenges and the car will run just fine!
Me: How was your day?
Hubby: The guys at work say the mole on my arm is suspicious, that I don't drink enough beer and that a woman should be barefoot and obedient. Oh, and that real men don't change diapers or do laundry.
Me: Are the guys at work married?
Hubby: No. Divorced and playing video games and living with their mothers.
Okay guys at work. I'm on to you. I know you are trying to destroy my life, my marriage and my happiness. You are trying to convert my husband into being as miserable as the rest of you. You are filling his little head with visions of biopsies and do-it-yourselfing and chauvanistic ideals. But I have something over you.
I sleep with the guy. And no matter how much you "care" about my hubby, and give him "helpful" advice and "support" him, you can't give him the good stuff. So I win.
Repair your mom's electrical, you bastards.