Not The Favorite

I love my husband but damn it, is it too much to ask to want to be talked to honestly? And by that, don't tell me what you think I want to hear. Tell me the truth. I'm a big girl, you don't need to lie to me to make me happy.

If you didn't want a new car, why did you build me up by letting me think you did? You knew how much I looked forward to saying goodbye to that death trap. I've been talking about getting a new one for at least a year and now you have the gall to tell me that you like our car?

See, I'm not exactly clear on what you like about it. Is it the nice orange glow it has from the check engine light being on for two years? Or the way something really expensive breaks on a bi-monthly basis? Maybe it's the fact that you don't have to see me when driving at night because the dome light has been out for 3 years because when we try to change it, the car fills with smoke. Oh, I know... It's the screeching. The car sings to us when we accelerate. Yes, I do love that too.

Really though, I don't get it and right now I'm too disappointed to even be mad about it.

Labels: Death'O'Matic