Working Woman Woes

OK. Here's the deal. I work from home and for some reason (more often than not it's more like some fucking reason) I'm expected to figure out what the husband and the kid will be shoveling down their pie holes for the evening meal. As I'm through with my cycle, my appetite is nil and I can make due with chai and a yogurt here and there. (I take a multi-vitamin w/. minerals so scurvy is not a worry.)

I just don't feel like eating (ask me again in another 20 days when all I want to do is eat and eat and eat and bitch about how much I'm eating) and I feel like cooking even less, but a girl's gotta do what a girl's gotta do to avoid social services paying her a call and keep the husband's trap shut so I can watch What Not To Wear in peace.

My one rule is I'll deal with dinner--which entails figuring out what to cook and then going out and getting necessary foodstuffs--but I will not clean the kitchen before or after. Simple enough, right? Except that the husband has amended my one rule by stating that if I do not cook the night before, no cleaning of the kitchen will take place. Which leaves us both fucked and the kid thinking he'll be scoring some McDonald's. Just the thought of the kid enjoying a Happy Meal makes my maternal organs shudder in despair. McDonald's is reserved for booster shot day. That's what makes it a treat.

So last night no cooking was done in the household and the kitchen is looking pretty yuck, but I have done my duty by going out and procuring sustenance for the evening meal which leaves me doing the splits over a river teaming with snapping crocodiles. Since I can't cook in a messy kitchen, I either have to clean it or wait around for the husband to arrive to do his duty, then do the cooking while dealing with the hungry kid.

This working woman thing really sucks, you know. And fuck men, really.

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