I love him dearly, but oh my good fucking fuck
I have been out since half six this morning. I got home at 8. I have had a shitty day for a variety of reasons and I am exhausted. Tomorrow I have to get up and do it all again.
DH was home hours ago, and fair play, house is OK and dinner is handed to me. I haven't eaten since twelve, so I'm shovelling in lasagne, when he starts with the questions
- When does your mum want to borrow that table, are you going to take it round on Monday morning or should we do it sooner, I'm not sure if it will fit in the car, have you tried it, do you know how it folds down, if I get it down tomorrow morning you could take it on your way to...
JUST SHUT UP. I can barely think straight I am so tired and you want me to organise some fucking tiny issue RIGHT HERE RIGHT NOW.
I told him quite sharply that I really cba discussing it now, and he's all hurt.
He does this ALLLLLL THE TIME