I don’t spend enough time telling you how Mr. G. is narrow minded and cruel. What you don’t know is that he is a dream killer. Not just any old dreams, but my dreams. You know… the dreams that matter.
As our 13th anniversary approaches, I had one simple request. I wanted him to buy me a $1.2 million fixer upper. It’s not enough that he got ridiculous and sensible and denied me himself a Porsche (we only have a Jaguar now), but on top of all the other deprivations, my husband will not buy me the fixer upper.
Because he feels like it’s too expensive for a house that has a giant pipe poking through and into the Olympic Sized Swimming Pool.
I am deeply deprived.