Last week the chip in my beloved debit card died. I work 6 days a week and the only day I could have gone to get a new one - Friday - was completely effed up by The Swinger. Now the magnetic stripe has died as well. No worries though, I've got whiskey and smokes to get me through to this Friday.
NotSoMuch Asshat wasn't home, so it was just me and the Numero Uno Asshat for dinner. I offered to cook pasta. I'm easy like that, easy like Sunday Morning.
Numero Uno Asshat is good with pasta - anything he doesn't have to cook himself because he's finally learning that PB&J tastes great if someone else makes it. I couldn't be prouder! But, he doesn't want the pasta I have on hand - and yes of course it all tastes different.
He's going out for a bit so he offers to stop at the grocery store and pick up some pasta. Which, since I'm hungry now and a wee bit thirsty sounds good to me. So I asked him to pick up some bread too, since you know, my debit card is dead and I used the last of my cash to get pop to go with my whiskey.
Numero Uno Asshat arrives home a couple of hours later and says Did you know bread costs three fucking dollars a loaf?
I came really close to pissing myself laughing. Really close.