Since our home is located on the corner of a busy street, the amount of debris that blows into our yard is truly upsetting. Slurpee cups and cellophane do a whimsical dance into our yard. Do they not know? Camera boy from "American Beauty" doesn't live here. Our back patio often looks like a construction crew took its lunch break back there, and just couldn't find a trash can afterwards. Needless to say, we are constantly campaigning: 7-Eleven, Not in My Backyard. A few weeks ago, I went outside and picked up a few pieces of trash from the yard and disposed of them in a trash can inside. One of the pieces of trash was an empty bag of Funyuns. Which to Lovey Loverpants can only mean one thing: Wifey went on a bender! She snuck outside just long enough to get her greasy food fix, but she's not clever enough to hide the traces of her habit. I tried to vindicate myself. But it was a long few days before the trash was to be curbed. Each day presented a new lesson for Baby Girl vis a vi Papa. "Mama likes Funyuns, Madi. Mama denies it, but she really likes Funyuns...I'm chopping onions; bet Mama wishes they were Funyuns." I was practically waiting to see it on the latest entry of Stuff White People Like: Hiding Their Funyuns Habits.
Even if I did get caught with my hand in the chip bag -- I put on my pre-preggo jeans today...and they zipped and snapped shut so BOOO-YAH.