note to self: never fall in love with someone who hates spending money

Scott and I have been arguing for the past week practically over my monetary habits. With the vacation knocking on our door, we’ve both been stressed trying to get our jobs set up to survive in our absence. He’s been coming home with his already short hair pulled into stress-induced spikes, grabbing a couple of beers, and hunkering down in his chair with his laptop and notepad. I’ve been balancing the booking, I’m setting stuff up to be able to pay everybody this Friday rather than the usual next Tuesday (Damn! that’s gonna screw up the whole bi-weekly routine i have), teaching Jesse things about the store’s shipping, restocking, “special customers”, etc in order for her not to do the hair-pully, very scarey, stress thing that Scott’s been doing.

All this has come together to stir up some monumental fights in Hermitsville. He’s get pissed that I’ve been buying him clothes and stuff for the trip. I get pissed because he’s acting bitchy, and so on and so forth. I hate, absolutely hate fighting, shouting, yelling, and any other negative confrontation of the sort, but I go there when I deem it worth it. Scott is worth it.

After I prove him a little wrong, or he gets his point across in the loudest way possible and I get loud back at him, he throws himself into his chair and stares at either his computer screen or the tv, pouting like a little boy. No matter how angry I am, this cools me down instantly; he’s just so sexy when he broods/pouts that I can’t resist getting him riled up in a very different manner.

Which is the reason I’ve been going to sleep on my long lunch breaks and my eyes feel crusty and dry. He came home this evening having left all of his stuff at work “by accident,” and we both laid down, going to sleep at around 6:30. Of course, I woke up about 2 hours ago starving, so I woke him up, and we ate bagged salad poured into a big bowl with leftover chicken cut up and tossed in, chopped up baby carrots, and Italian dressing. We fork-dueled over the last piece of chicken, which he won (the booger), and our play-fighting turned into some very good makeup sex. Good God, I cannot get enough of this man! I told him so, and he laughed, saying, “You better not because I ain’t goin’ anywhere. You’re stuck with me.” Yay, I say. Wouldn’t want to be stuck with anyone else.

Whoever said makeup sex is better than any other sex is stupid, but they may be onto something in their own perverted, too-much-time-on-their-hands, way.
Yay, I say.