Originally, I started this as a brief update to the other Bitches. Turns out, I'm not so good at being brief this morning.

I hate to sound punitive and immature, but I finally snapped. I'm always the recipient of the "freezer treatment" when I've pissed my husband off. It gets annoying and it's hurtful. It is also somewhat satisfying when you finally get to turn the tables.

You see, on Saturday after a round of "nothing spectacular but fairly satisfying sex" I made my husband a margarita (complete with salt rimmed glass, freshly squeezed lime juice, fresh orange juice, etc. you get the point) and I brought it to him out on the patio. I sat down and we were chatting with our oldest daughter and a friend who was over. The plan was for us to play a game on the lawn in the backyard and so I asked my husband if he would pick up the dog bombs. Dog bomb disposal is his chore around the house. I clean toilets and bathrooms - he can pick up the dog bombs.

He told me he had and I pointed out, nicely, that he missed a pile. Considering we were about to have balls rolling around the backyard (for a game, keep your mind out of the gutter!) it was necessary for all of the bombs to be picked up. He bristled and proceeded to tell me in a nasty and degrading tone that I knew where the shovel was and could go clean up the dog bombs myself. The conversation degraded from there with me plastering my "I'm going to kill you in private" smile on my face in front of company. He began stubbornly, stumbling full steam ahead into what he is just now beginning to realize was saying all the wrong things he possibly could, disrespecting and embarrassing me in front of both one of our kids and company.

I got up and disappeared into the house and that was the last I have spoken to my husband, willingly. Unless he addresses me specifically by name and I deem it important to the basic function of the household, I refuse to acknowledge his presence at all.

Except for my not being able to resist shooting him with the kitchen sprayer through the kitchen window and soaking his ass while he bent over fixing something. Unfortunately, I couldn't get out of the kitchen quickly enough and what followed was something out of a Doris Day movie with me crouched down behind the kitchen island pretending to clean something up and him blatantly catching me, essentially hiding from him.

But, other than that, I've managed to steadily apply the ice treatment with astonishing consistency. At first he seemed to enjoy it, he watched obnoxious movies while monopolizing the family room, he stayed out drinking on the patio until late while blaring music loudly and most likely pissing off our neighbors. When he finally stumbled into bed he began moaning, flopping, and thrashing in his sleep. I pulled out my trusty straight pin and jabbed him soundly any time he rolled over or intruded on my space. I finally just pointed it in the direction of his ass so every time he rolled over he rolled right on top of it - usually with the amusing result of him jumping and lurching back to the other side of the bed. I had to remind myself that Celeste always told me to be careful laughing so I wouldn't shake the bed and wake him up, but the truth is, it's easy to torment someone who is sleeping off a good drunk.

That was Saturday night. Sunday was quiet and boring. I took our oldest daughter out for some light grocery shopping and left him with our youngest playing video games. I spent the evening having a lovely salmon dinner and chatting with our kids and a guest we had over while carefully never including him in the conversation.

Then sometime around 6am this morning he rolled over in bed and attempted to cuddle. I moved over and shoved him off me. He tried again and I scooted over, carefully shoving the comforter and sheet into a wadded barrier between the two of us to fill the gap before he had the opportunity to. He finally took the hint and got up.

There was a time when I would have accepted his affection and let him off the hook. But the fact that he has elected to be so stubborn when a proper, contrite apology would have cleared it up and certainly improved the weekend - is making it very easy for me to just ignore him completely. It used to bother me, us not getting along. He's just about to realize that it bothers me less and less.