Reveille This! 13 billion light years & Blue Cheese Alfredo Sauce

You've heard the saying Women are from Mars and Men are from Venus. Or is it the other way around? In my household, we are not just from other planets, we exist on other galaxies. 

Speaking of which, did you know that last month scientists discovered a new galaxy? It has the sexy name UDFy-38135539, and is located 13 billion light years away. I'm thinking that a long distance relationship might be in order. If my husband can find a job on UDFy-3815539, we will only get on each other's nerves every 13 billion years. I think I read that Coke is opening up a bottling plant there. See last week's Businessweek article "Coke's Last Frontier". I'm sure Coke could use a VP to head up their operations and new development. 

Lest you think I'm joking, I will share this morning's irritation. It started with my husband's alarm. He has programmed the military bugle reveille to sound off every morning at 6 am. I have patiently told him that it is the most ANNOYING alarm noise in the entire world. I have pleaded (not so patiently) for him to change the sound. He always responds with the SAME answer. It's SUPPOSED to be annoying. That way, you'll wake up. On this particular morning, he hits snooze 3 times. This happens to be the ONE morning all week that I can sleep in until 7am. After hearing three rounds of reveille over a 30 minute period, I can no longer sleep. In fact, I'm in a vile mood. Reveille is at the top of my chart for most REVILED song. 

The next irritation occurs a few minutes later, while I'm cooking breakfast for the kids. My husband decides to criticize my pancake making ability. Actually the pancakes were already made, I was just microwaving them. However according to my husband, my microwave abilities are lacking. He stops the microwave in mid-heat mode, pulls out the plate, and inspects it suspiciously. What is that glistening substance on the pancake? It's the syrup, duh. You are microwaving it too long and it will burn the roof of our son's mouth. 

At this point, I'm ready to shove the pancake down his throat, just to shut him up. Instead, I tell him that I've microwaved lots of pancakes and I know what I'm doing. Then I tell him that if he doesn't like it, HE can wake up an hour earlier to make the kids breakfast and lunch. I don't appreciate cooking tips from someone whose culinary prowess includes making alfredo sauce with Marie's blue cheese dressing. 

I am further irritated by the fact that in the span of an hour, I've managed to cook breakfast, make lunches, feed the dog, give the cat a pill, fill out two recruit forms for our daughter and finalize my proposal for world peace, while he takes a shower and shaves. 

He FINALLY leaves for work and I sit at the computer checking email. 5 minutes later he calls me to ask me what happened to the car. I'm confused. What happened to the car? You've trashed the car. I'm further confused. As far I know, the car seems fine to me. Now for those of you who know us, most of you would agree that I am the one who tends to exaggerate, especially for the benefit of a good story. 

Since he is not prone to exaggeration, I'm perplexed. I know that my memory has been in gradual decline lately, but I think I would remember if I trashed the car. The whole LEFT side is TRASHED! He accuses me of ramming the car into the side of the garage. Again, I think I would know if I hit the garage while backing out. I go outside to inspect the car. I see a scratch on the car. So yes, I must have scraped the car against the garage while exiting. It is a scrape. I call him back to tell him that it is a scrape. SCRAPE??? That scrape will cost $800 to fix. I ask him if he thinks that I purposely crashed into the garage, just to dent the car and piss him off. He tells me that I need to be MORE CAREFUL. (irritation #501)

REVEILLE THIS. If I was a vindictive person, I would delete all songs from his IPod, except Reveille and then set it on eternal repeat, so he could listen on his 13 billion light year trip.