Well looky here!
I forgot that my baby sister got a pic of my cousin straightening my hair.
But could you please just ignore my pasty white skin, my bucktoothed Brace Face and droopy red eyes from pain killers?!?!
This is not a good look for me. I'm referring to the ghost look. Not my straightened hair.
I have this gaunt look every year after my suntan fades.
Sometimes, I really hate winter.
Ok, that's a lie.
I always hate winter.
Anyway, new topic.
I schemed my revenge on the Tranny Terrorist, and executed the plan.
You see, these past few days, my love has been gorging on his birthday cake, then chasing it with Reese's mini peanut butter cups.
Every day I make him his protein shake, in hopes that he gets enough vitamins.
Well, today I ever so sneakily placed a leaf of chard in our Magic Bullet smoothie maker, and added the usual mixed frozen berries, protein powder, omega oils, and apple juice for papi, coconut milk for me.
When I gave my love his shake, it was difficult for me not to have a deviant look on my face as I delivered the goods.
I was hoping that he just wouldn't notice.
But alas, I heard, "Is there hair in my smoothie?!?!"
"No," I answered nonchalantly, with an added scoff of 'don't be ridiculous'.
Well, I couldn't contain my giggles when my love pulled a string of chard out of his shake.
"Did you put vegetables in my shake?!?!"
I'm pretty sure I heard him hack up a loogie on the word 'vegetables'.
However, I took advantage of my right to remain silent.
That changed, of course, until after the 4th time mi esposo asked the same question.
I eventually had to admit it, but I waited until Papi had finished at least half of his shake. That way, I knew that he at least got a little bit of nutrition in that body that is saturated with sugar.
To my amazement, mi esposo actually drank the whole thing.
That is really all I could ask for, and now I have free reign to slip veggies into other foods without my love knowing.
Did I tell you the story about buying Papi's birthday cake?
I don't think I did.
I had to wait until after I told Papi.
So, as I was speaking to the woman in charge of the bakery department, I told her exactly what kind of cake I needed, as the recipient was beyond finicky.
She said, "Yeah, kids can be so picky. How old is he?"
"Thirty-six," I replied, waiting for the chuckle in reference to my very own manchild.
She did indeed get a kick out of it, then added, "Oh, that's even worse."
Indeed Safeway bakery lady.
Don't you know it.