Here in the DC area, we have been buried in snow for the past three days. Since we, as an area, do not deal with this amount of snow well, I still cannot get out of my cul de sac to any main road. Because I am someone who requires quite a bit of alone time, I am about twelve minutes away from turning into Jack Nicholson in The Shining.
Rather than being frightened by this, my husband instead views this as some sort of invitation to test my limits of patience:
Canetto: "You know, you have a short fuse."
Me: "I don't think so. I am just getting cabin fever."
Canetto: (while poking me repeatedly): "Short fuse. Short fuse. Short fuse. Short fuse. Short fuse."
Me: "Oh. My. God. STOP IT RIGHT NOW!!!!!!!!"
Canetto: (calmly and matter of factly) "See? Short fuse."
Writing redrum on the mirror,