I am not going to do the dishes. No way. No fucking way.

I made the dinner, and not with the canned shit. This was homemade sauce. My spaghetti is supposedly your favorite but then you had to go and say that the truth is, you don't like it very much.

I diced the onions and the garlic, the fresh basil and oregano, the tomatoes. And yeah, of course, there was tomato juice all over the place, and I did use all three cutting boards, and lots of extra bowls to keep all the ingredients separated before I put them in the sauce, and the garlic required the use of one of the smaller knives, which I didn't realize until I had already started using the medium-sized knife, the dull one that you always say you're going to sharpen but never do.

When the sauce started burping up and splattering all over the stove, and the walls, and the curtains, and onto the clean coffee cups in the dish rack, well that's when I decided I better use the bigger pot, and I didn't realize that old lid from the old pot was still in the cupboard, so that's why that extra lid is covered in sauce, because it fell right into the big pot when I was trying to cover it up. You said you threw out the old pot, so why would I think the lid to that pot would still be in there? I mean, really, who throws out the pot but not the lid? What kind of moron does that? Well, you can wash the lid now, since you thought it was so important to save.

The reason I used both colanders is because how am I supposed to know that the plastic one has holes in it that are too big for angel hair pasta? I started dumping in the pasta, right when it was perfect, just perfect, and the pasta slips right through the holes. Luckily I was able to salvage enough for the dinner, but I had to put down the pot and search for the other colander, and just an extra minute in boiling water can ruin angel hair pasta. Well, that's why I ended up using both colanders. And of course you had to mention that the pasta was "a little soggy." God damn you. "A little soggy." Fuck YOU.

And you're the one who wanted garlic bread. I didn't want any bread. You're always saying I'm fat, so why would I eat bread? Pasta is bad enough, but bread is out, because I am getting fat, according to you, "spare tire" and all those other comments. And I swear to God, to GOD, you better never, ever, ever fucking say the words "love handles" ever again. But you wanted bread, and so I fried up some garlic in a dab of melted butter, in the small sauce pan, the one WITHOUT a lid, and then I cut up the bread with the bread knife, and I placed it on the toaster tray, and poured the melted butter and lightly sauted garlic mixture onto the bread, but got it all over the tray as well. Then I realized the bread was too big for the toaster, so I had to put it on a cookie sheet and cook it in the oven. But you wanted the bread. Not me. You.

So that's why I'm sleeping on the couch, and all the dirty dishes, including the four knives and the three cutting boards, the two colanders, the old lid covered in sauce, the toaster tray and the cookie sheet and all the rest of it are stacked up in the bed. I make this food for you, food that you don't even appreciate, and then you tell me you're not going to do the dishes, because I used too many? Fine. Be that way.

But even though I'm really pissed, really, really just pissed off, I made sure to avoid using yet another dish. Instead of putting the leftover sauce in a container, I dumped it all into your briefcase. Now turn off the light so I can get to sleep.