When I found out about 15 years ago that I'd married a paste eater, I about DIED.
I think it affected his brain. He thought he could outwit those sneaky info-grabbing high-tech techies by wiping his phone before he called in to transfer his account to a new phone he ordered online.
His first words when he found out I'm writing this post- "Remember it came in a little pot with a dipstick? It smelled like peppermint. I wonder why they quit making it like that."
I wonder.
So basically, I'm married to this guy. Except he's super OCD/ADHD and my closets are immaculate, and we live in Mirkwood in a house he helped build himself because he's so OCD he doesn't trust anyone else to do anything right. And his beer/glue/cat food cocktail is really a super carb cocktail of ice cream/cake or cookies/popcorn until he goes into a diabetic coma.
