Okay. So about ten or twelve years ago, I got really angry at Hubby one night. I had just spent about 30 minutes working on his back with his favorite wooden massager. I'd bought it for him for his birthday.
Here's one like it. You've seen 'em.
Then he refused to reciprocate! Said he "didn't feel like it."
I tried appealing to his sense of fair play, but apparently he didn't have one. I wheedled. I cajoled. I accused him of being selfish. Of not caring. I mean, MY back was sore now that I'd spent all that time on his!
He just laughed at me.
I think that's what pushed me over the edge.
I took his massager out the back door onto the concrete and stomped on it. Nothing happened. I stomped again. I wanted to stomp on Hubby, but the massager would have to do. I kept stomping, but the damn thing was made too well. It REALLY hurt! But I was determined to stomp the thing into splinters.
I must've been out there stomping on the thing for a good ten minutes before it finally broke.
I seriously bruised the bottom of my foot and couldn't wear anything but athletic shoes for over a month.
I can't stop giggling at these crazed people.
BBB
I can't stop giggling at these crazed people.
BBB
