No article, no advice, no one, could have prepared me for the mood swings that I have gone through in the past two months. In a matter of a second my house goes from Pleasantville to Pearl Harbor. The other day Ashley asks me to do the dishes and I said I would before I went to bed, mind you the basketball game was on. She falls asleep on the couch as I am watching the end of the basketball game, I wake her up to go upstairs to bed, forgetting all about the dishes. The next morning Kamikaze planes were crashing into my living room. Ashley is going ballistic, her mouth is like the machine gun on the Kamikaze plane and instead of just committing suicide and crashing into me she decides to shoot me with a thousand bullets first, making sure I feel the wrath.
Now Ashley knows what she signed up for, she knows I have been diagnosed by my father with CRS (Can't Remember Shit). I have to write my name on my hand before going to bed so I can remember it the next morning, not really, but you get the point. There have been plenty of instances before where I forgot to do the dishes, but none were more important to her than this night. These were special dishes, these were the Taj Mahal of dishes. She acted as if I didn't clean those dishes that night then mold was going to grow on them, she would then breathe in this moldy air as she was asleep and our baby would come out looking like the people from The Hills Have Eyes.
Tip #7: No matter how bad you want to shout at her the line, "F*** you hormones" from Knocked Up... don't.
And this is when I started to take on enemy aircraft on my journey to, destination... dad.
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