Oh, the wonders when women start living with their husbands

My mom knows me well. Yesterday I went home to pick up some things and hang out for a bit with my fru fru fitzy and my mom, and I had to tell my mom this mortifying story:

I woke up and did my usual routine of a shower and straightening my hair, ran around the house getting breakfast and laundry, and finally decided to get dressed. Since I had an interview for my Reporting Public Affairs class I threw on one of my million pairs of black slacks and a nice, satin blue print tank top. Franticly, I searched the house for my make-up bag and watched the clock. Since I couldn't find it I assumed I'd left in the car over the weekend and proceeded to clean up after myself.

On the kitchen breakfast table has sat my deep red nail polish for the past 2 months. I eyed it and thought, "I should probably put that away before my husband disowns me."In my haste, as I walked into the master bedroom my arm caught the corner of a chest of drawers. Slipping out of my hand and flying toward the tile of the bathroom floor, the vile of red liquid shattered and color splattered everywhere like coagulated blood.

I froze, in shock of the situation in front of me. The tile was streaked and some landed on the grout between the tiles. Worse, like the scene out of the twilight zone, I stared at the carpet that met the master bedroom with the bathroom. I poured nail polish remover everywhere trying to keep everything from drying. I took care of the tile, but still freaked over the carpet. I did as much as I could with the fleeting time I had and called my husband on my way out of the house.

"I just had to tell you that you're wife is crazy." I relayed the whole story to the voice mail machine and started to cry. "I'm going to pick up some nail polish remover to take care of the rest of the tile, but the carpet is probably ruined. I'll see you later, babe, and hope you're day is going better than mine!"

I went through the day, performing my journalistic duties and visiting my mother - relaying my embarrassment. After classes, I texted my husband that I would pick up the nail polish remover but he said he'd already purchased some. Apparently he started to clean up where I left off once he got home because, as I struggled to stay on the road while laughing, my husband texted me saying:

"Nail polish remover is AWESOME!!!"