The Wife

The Wife:  Can you please fix this dishwasher rack, I think it got realigned.

The Husband (as he fixes dishwasher rack):  You need to be more careful with stuff.  We can’t afford to fix things you keep breaking.  You have to remember that this dishwasher isn’t brand new.  You need to be easy and stop running around like a bulldozer.

The Wife (tired while dusting furniture):  YOU DO NOT TALK TO ME like a child.  I am NOT rough on stuff.  The broken rack is as much your fault.  Your the one who is rough.  NO matter what breaks, its always my fault.  Man, what a JackASS!  To blame me for everything.  I can’t believe you say I’m rough.  Jeez you must be Mr. Perfect.  Things break, its not my fault they break.

SUDDEN CRACKKKKKK! WOOD SPLIT!  CRACKKKKKK!

The Wife freezes when she sees what she has done while dusting the end table (brand new furniture purchased a mere four months ago).

 

The Wife thinks to herself: no, no, no, no, no, no, no, please Lord, no...not while I’m trying to make a point no matter how invalid.  

She realizes the Lord isn’t helping her on this one but He is quite possibly making a valid point she doesn’t want to hear. 

The Husband: What was that noise?

The Wife thinks this is a good time to turn over a new leaf and be sweet to her husband.  
The Wife:  What sweetie pie, honey, dear, cupcake?  You know, your right, I really need to be careful and slow down.

The Husband:  What was that noise?

The Wife thinks crap, crap, crap, crap.  Who can she blame-termites, the kids, tornado?

The Husband:  Did you break something again!!!

The Wife:  You know you have been working so hard, you should go take a rest  Can I fix your favorite meal?  Is that Carlee crying? Allow me.

The Husband walks in the living room and inspects damage.

The Husband:  I don’t believe this. This table is brand new!  You can’t just push a table like that!!!

The Wife:  OK so maybe I’m a little, bitty, tiny, somewhat reckless but I blame the furniture polish, it weakened the leg.  I swear I will never dust again.

The Husband:  speechless again.

Maybe Wood Glue?