Dead Meat

That's what Steve will be as soon as he gets home from picking up our dinner from wherever he's going to surprise me. He left about 15 minutes ago, and I was upstairs on the computer in a green knit sweater and my undies. And socks. And a bobby pin holding back my bangs. There I just listed everything I'm wearing at the moment. Well, I was doing something on the internet that required the use of my debit card (shopping? me? nah.), which I left in my purse. Which is in my car. Which is in the garage. So I hopped down the stairs, through our kitchen, and opened the door to the garage. It was pitch black in there, so I flipped on the light. It pretty much blinded me, but I was able to make it down the 3 steps to my car. I opened the door and dug through my purse. Finally, debit card in hand, I whirled around to go back into the house, and was stopped dead in my tracks. You know what was staring me right in the face?

MY ENTIRE EFFING NEIGHBORHOOD, THAT'S WHAT!

He didn't close the garage door.

And it's pitch black outside, so it was all the same to me when I opened the kitchen door to a pitch black garage.

Here is a classic example of why men get in trouble for really stupid, petty things. I realize it's stupid and petty, but all the same, he is dead meat when he gets home in a few minutes.