I just got home to my family after 14 days spent in isolation after a work abroad stint. I have two under 5s, and my usually wonderful nephew who lives with us. He's 19. It's 2am here, and if I'm honest, I want to eat. Specifically, I want some chorizo. Halal quarantine has left me craving. It's in the fridge. Quiet, through the darkness, I approach the fridge. Silent, gliding along effortlessly on bare feet as I prepare for my bedtime snack. Door opens.
CRASH. "FUUUUCK IT HURTS SO MUCH FOR FUCKS SAKE."
Not the type of language I aim for around my little ones, to be honest. A full 2l bottle of Root Beer hits my toes. I take a step back in pain, heel digs into an upside down non-alcoholic beer cap. The very same drink my nephew thinks is great.
Obviously, everyone woke up and my DH tried his best not to laugh, as I tried to be nice. But I have shooting pain up to my knee and honestly I'm planning a murder. My little boys are my world, I adore them. Will they really one day turn into the teenagers who injure their exhausted mum by failing to put things in the fridge properly and refusing to use the bin??
Please, please tell me I'm not the only person who has been so furious over what should be a small incident that absolutely does not require the hiring of an assassin over the dark net.