tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2300611070893992585.post4715675229868791103..comments2023-10-17T09:46:20.456-04:00Comments on facebooking from the edge...: Did you say something? I didn't think so.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05223158968534558268noreply@blogger.comBlogger6125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2300611070893992585.post-29571040768548537542011-10-02T17:53:21.239-04:002011-10-02T17:53:21.239-04:00Jesus H. Tapdancing Christ on a low carb cracker.....Jesus H. Tapdancing Christ on a low carb cracker... My blood pressure spiked just reading that. My husband is not the pickiest eater anymore, but it has taken the whole of the six years I've known him to change that. My mother in law hates cooking, so when it came to feeding her four children, it was Campbell's soup casseroles with dry, tasteless chicken and nothing else. She absolutely ruined chicken for my husband (and by extension, me) for years. He would fight me every time he saw chicken come out of the freezer, and even went so far as to take it out of the shopping cart when I wasn't looking. <br /><br />It got so frustrating that I finally adopted the mantra "It puts the food in its mouth or it goes hungry AND sleeps on the couch." At least now he walks through the front door and tells me how good it smells and how hungry he is and doesn't look on the stove to see what "it" actually is. <br /><br />Not quite as frustrating as your guy, since mine remembers what each dish is called, but I'm more than reasonably certain it's because he knows which of them would take him the most effort to make, so he avoids requesting them.Mandihttps://www.blogger.com/profile/11368676645990095563noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2300611070893992585.post-75697818276960412232011-09-23T10:19:06.307-04:002011-09-23T10:19:06.307-04:00I have 3 kids. Two boys, 18 and 16, and a girl who...I have 3 kids. Two boys, 18 and 16, and a girl who is 12. EVERY FREAKING day they ask me what is for dinner. My sister and I both hate that question, so we were on the phone one day and decided together than when our families ask us what's for dinenr, we will answer with whatever comes to mind first. "what's for dinner?" ...peas and gravy or...waffles and liver. whatever pops in there. It's fun! You are welcome!!kelly Foxhttp://painfulspaghetti.blogspot.comnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2300611070893992585.post-90253760306599026992011-09-23T08:34:44.747-04:002011-09-23T08:34:44.747-04:00Kacey is, of course, the exception to every rule. ...Kacey is, of course, the exception to every rule. And I know exactly of what you speak. Shea and Brennan do the same thing. I remember standing in front of them saying, "Look up at me if you heard what I said." Then I'd get the eyeroll, followed by, "I HEARD you!" Well, then say so! It's part of their fabulous "ness." xoAnonymoushttps://www.blogger.com/profile/05223158968534558268noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2300611070893992585.post-83275217469773866602011-09-23T01:45:35.564-04:002011-09-23T01:45:35.564-04:00Actually, I DO have one that listens (no vagina hi...Actually, I DO have one that listens (no vagina hidden anywhere in his anatomy, you know this of course)... its not listening to me kacey has a problem with, its acknowledging that I'm speaking to him. The when I repeat myself when he doesn't say anything, look at me or even motion he heard me, he gets irritated.daniellenoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2300611070893992585.post-4886256254244644632011-09-22T18:52:57.108-04:002011-09-22T18:52:57.108-04:00You mean, Jello isn't a fruit?
#headsmackYou mean, Jello isn't a fruit? <br /><br />#headsmackAnonymoushttps://www.blogger.com/profile/05223158968534558268noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2300611070893992585.post-80523034664992014722011-09-22T18:41:26.141-04:002011-09-22T18:41:26.141-04:00Jeezy-Beezy. I almost fell out of my chair over th...Jeezy-Beezy. I almost fell out of my chair over the 'is there jello in the fruit salad?'<br /><br />Classic.Vesta Vaynehttp://cowardlyfeminist.comnoreply@blogger.com