Terror in the Microwave.

If you’ve been reading my blog for the last few months at least, you know that my husband likes to scare the ever-loving shit out of me. On Mother’s Day, he put a stuffed squirrel on the back of our toilet. The next day, he hid a prop rat in our linen closet. I even wrote a post about the beginning of his reign of terror.

My friends, Daddy Green has struck again.

We were sitting on the couch watching a horrible movie about some crazy chick that kills her neighbors in weird ways (we’re normal, I swear) when my husband says sweetly, “How about we make some popcorn?”

Now, I loves me some popcorn. I excitedly agreed, and he suggested, “Why don’t you go make it and I will rub your back?”

I also loves me some backrubs, so I leaped off the couch and headed to the kitchen. I pulled a bag of popcorn from the box, turned to face the microwave, opened the door, and came face to face with this:

 

EXPECTING TO COOK A DELICIOUS SNACK? GUESS AGAIN BITCH, IT’S TIME FOR RABIES.

As my brain processed the impending doom and infection of rabies that lay before me in my microwave, I made a slight “Ohhhhhh!” noise and did a little hop. I turned around to face my husband, who had slithered off the couch and was laughing so hard he couldn’t produce any sound. All that came from his mouth was a slight wheezing as he turned red in the face. I walked over to him and looked down at him as he gasped for air and flapped his hands at me. I wondered for a second if he was going to pass out from lack of oxygen and decided that if he did, I’d take a pee in his shoes and draw on his face as payback for scaring the shit out of me. Alas, my husband did not pass out so his shoes are dry and his face is safe.

People keep telling me I need to exact my revenge, but believe me when I tell you that this is no easy feat. My husband is almost impossible to scare or embarrass. Anything that I could do to scare him would just be mean. I couldn’t tell him I was pregnant, because he’d be elated and then I’d feel like an asshole when I told him I was joking. I don’t know how I’m going to get him back, but I’m going to, damnit.

Suggestions are welcome. Privately, because Captain Pranky McChuckleface reads my blog.