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Thursday, 02/16/2007 - 12:07 a.m.

DC and I just had this conversation:

Him: If you're trying to bust my balls about not having a job, you can just stop. (This said after eavesdropping while I was on the phone with the Boy lamenting how I spent $400 today on the doc visit and the pills. I'm *really* bummed over it all.)

Me: Excuse me?

Him: I know I have to get a job with insurance. You don't have to bust my balls over it.

(Cut to the arguing for a good five minutes about how he feels like I'm busting his balls about finding a job.)

Me: If saying something *today*, ONCE in 2 weeks, about finding a job is "busting your balls" then you're a candyass pansy wuss who needs to grow a pair and get some thicker skin. Motherfucker, how long we been together?

Him: Ummm....let's see...

Me: 6 years, motherfucker. *SIX* years. And in 6 years, I'm pretty sure you would know when I'm busting your balls and when I'm not.

Him: Good point.

Me: That's right. Now shut the fuck up.

Him: *big wide-eyed look of surprise*

Me: Got a boner now, do ya, because I don't put up with your whiny bullshit?

Him: I'm not sure. Ask me again in a few minutes.

I'm 100% sure if Exhusband and I had talks like the above a little more often, we'd have stayed married longer. We'd still have ended up divorced eventually, oh yeah, but brutal honesty might have saved us for quite a while.

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