As soon as I laid eyes on my kitchen, though, I knew those plans had to change. Instead, I would spend my time cleaning and pondering a few questions:
- Who puts dishes back into the cupboards when they're not clean?
- Why is there cooking oil in my laundry baskets?
- What the hell was Brad cooking in my rice cooker?
- Why would someone use paper bags for the kitchen garbage can?
- What the hell happened to my stovetop, did he roast marshmallows on it or something?
Three letters followed by an interrobang: WTF?!
I also pondered a few other questions:
- Should I title the angry e-mail to Brad "Sweet Jesus, Brad" or "Jesus H. Christ, Brad"?
- How big a wedgie does this entitle me to give him?