In a marriage, only one of you can be crazy at a time. I cannot stress this enough. You must take turns being insane.

Exhibit A:
When I dropped a full bottle of grape seed oil (OIL!) on the kitchen floor, and it broke into an evil soup of about one million glass shards and OIL (FREAKIN’ OIL!), I got to be crazy, and the Mr had to be sane. This way someone is actually cleaning the mess up, while the other person is cursing their clumsiness, flailing around like a hysterical person and wondering what the hell gets grape oil off of painted walls. (I know this much, kicking the stain and crying at it will not help.)

And this afternoon when the Mr knocked a hot pink, strawberry smoothie off of his desk and onto the carpet of his office,  all over the stack of books he keeps around his desk (Aside: it’s like he’s building a fort in there. A damn fort of books on the law and accounting. In short, the most boring fort ever.) It was my turn to be the sane one, wiping down “Fraud and the Law” textbooks and scrubbing the white carpet until my arms felt like they might fall off.

What have we learned? It’s my turn to be crazy next. Yippee!