I'm anxious for the back yard to get done so I'll have some place incognito to bury the husband

Me: "So, Since you're going golfing, AGAIN, the entire next weekend, when exactly do you think we could order sod?"

Husband: "I was planning on the weekend of your birthday"

Me: "Oh, really? Huh. Yeah, That's exactly how I pictured my birthday weekend."

Husband: "I can postpone it if you'd like"

Me: "Uh no. I think we've done enough postponing for procrastinators nationwide"

Husband: "No more complaining!"

Me: "Ugh. Whatever. It will never be done. No grass. No fence. No cleaned off patio. No NOTHING EVER! Humph. This is the worst birthday month I've ever had."

Husband: "You need to stop. You're being very powdy. Plus you only get a birthday weekend. You're being over dramatic."

Me: "I just want our personal FUCKING PARADISE to be paradiseish! Is that TOO MUCH TO ASK?! AND incase you didn't notice, which I'm sure you DIDN'T. My birthday falls on a fucking TUESDAY! Which means, I get two birthday weekends, minimum."

Husband: "Patience. 2 more weeks won't kill you."

Me: "By 2, I know you mean 10. And by the way, it's spelled pouty"

Husband: "The first of August is a good time frame"

Me: "You make me want to punch things."

Husband: "I just bring you back to reality and it sucks!"

Me: "Speaking of things that suck, I won't be. Until the yard is done. Wanna know what I call that?! MOTIVATION. I'm holding you to your stupid time frames, BY THE WAY"

This is text fighting at it's greatest, people.

Now I'm googling the definition of "Fuehrer" because that was his only reply.

And what the fuck, husband? You can spell Fuehrer but not pouty?

Jesus Christ.