Don't You Hate It When

You take your son to Pennsylvania to visit his friend that moved away, and while you're away, your husband and daughter are at home, sleeping in late, dining out, going to soccer practice, making bacon and eggs for breakfast and as you're sitting on the train ride back home, you know, based on previous experience and common sense, that the sink will be filled with dishes, the trash can will be overflowing and that the kitchen will qualify for federal disaster aid. And you can't help but mentally compose an award-winning blog post about how unfair it is that it is the 21st century and we have a female vice presidential nominee, and yet it is always the mother who is expected to clean the kitchen, even if she was away for the whole fucking weekend, listening to Pokemon chatter and driving past McCain lawn signs and demonstrated tremendous reserve in not vandalizing either the Pokemon or the signs, and realizing that she'd rather have Picachu than McCain running the country, and then as you mentally hit "publish post", you walk into your apartment and see that your husband cleaned the entire kitchen and did all the dishes and totally ruined your fabulous idea for a blog post and now doesn't understand why you're giving him a hairy eyeball and are generally seething. MEN.

Don't you hate it when that happens?