The Toxic Housewife

http://etsy.com/shop/ficklepicklefun I am the consummate American, in that it is in my blood to be a consumer.  This does not blend well with my Irish-German roots, which advocate practicality and thrift.  So I am greedy whilst concurrently being miserly: to qualities that are ever at-odds with each other.

I was always a dog person growing up.  Probably because my best friend was a rat-terrier named D’Artagnon.  Despite his penchant for killing kittens, peeing on purses, and sneaking into other people’s luggage to eat entire boxes of their expensive chocolates, he was still – in my eyes – the most perfect dog in the world.

Last summer was probably the first time Mr. C and I had a truly in-depth discussion about sex. “How do babies get inside their mommy’s belly?” Mr. C asked one day as I was making cookies.

Because he’s so advanced in every single way, Mr. C has already lost his two front teeth.  Which makes it easy, because now I know what to get him for Christmas.

Ahhh, what a glorious week to be a neurotic, overly-obsessed Toxic Housewife!  Thanks to the impending arrival of the Greatest Chocoholic Holiday Ever, I had so much to be dramatic about! As promised, here’s what I spent the last few weeks obsessing about: