I had work today. I normally don’t work Saturdays, but I was covering for another girl who was going to be out of town. It was busy. It stormed. People were rude. Plus, I got up a little too late and I forgot to take my happy pills this morning. All in all, it was not my best day ever.
I get home, pretty worn out from, well, people. I collapsed in bed and needed to sleep off my demons and recharge.
I wake up and called my hubby into the bedroom.
For a fraction of a second, with his hat on and the shadows, he looked like he was wearing a Mexican wrestling mask. I know, right? I just started laughing. It was the only option I had. Since I knew what he was doing while I hid from the world, I had this picture in my head of him sitting there, playing Zelda and wearing a Mexican wrestling mask, yelling at the tv in Spanish that I didn’t even know he spoke. And that he would wear a Mexican wrestling mask into our bedroom opened up a whole other realm of hilarious possibilities that I’m sure would have a place on Telemundo. I told him what was going on in my twisted brain and he laughed, then our daughter walked in and in the process of climbing over me, she farted in his face and it ended the discussion of him in a Mexican wrestling mask.