Dear Hyphen,
It was really impressive the other night, when after breaking the disposal and clogging up the sink, you were able to fix it. The Spurs were playing, and you were hot and tired from work and were looking forward to coming home and watching the game--we all were. But then the sink clogged and you spent three hours fixing it, saving us hundreds of dollars in plumbing fees.
I appreciated your honesty, that you thought you stuffed too much fish down the disposal (unlike the time I put a lemon down it and pretended I didn't know why it broke), and that you were glad that it happened on your watch and not mine, because you said if I had broken it, you would have been mad. It's good that you can admit your failings, that sometimes you lack patience and get mad about things that just happen and are not really anyone's fault.
I helped you that night, I cleaned up the greasy, disgusting mess, and I did it with loving kindness and was even having some sexy feelings toward you in a you-cave-man-and-fix-things-and-me-cave-woman-and-clean-things kind of way.
But it is really too bad you didn't spend three hours and ten minutes fixing it. Because if you had, you might have thought to connect the water-line that leads from the dishwasher to the disposal, whereby preventing the second mess I just had to clean up in the kitchen and also preventing the comment "well, if you hadn't run the dishwasher, this never would have happened, so it is kind of your fault."
I am dazzled by your incompetence, both as a plumber and a human being.
Kind regards,
your dear and loving wife
P.S. Happy father's day dude.
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