The Punishment Doesn't Fit the Crime

Tonight my husband and I had a minor tiff, after which he stormed out of the house. Normally this would annoy me, because he knows how much I worry and I realize that this is his passive aggressive way of punishing me when he feels I'm wrong. (Which I never am. As you can see, I'm very easy to live with). Anyway, tonight I was not so much annoyed, as furious. Why? Because not only did he leave and cause me to worry endlessly about his safety (I just can't stand the thought of something happening to him before we make up. Which is why he should really obey my rule that no one leaves the house angry), but he also left me alone with our little devil, aka my dog.
Which leads me to my tale of woe. As I began my nightly process of first reading my favourite blogs before beginning my own, I heard a weird noise coming from the kitchen. There would be a loud THUMP followed by silence, and then yet another loud THUMP. In my heart of hearts, I prayed that my dear puppy was merely playing with one of her many toys, but deep inside I knew I was wrong. As I walked out into the kitchen it became clear that my instincts were correct. Maddie had gotten up onto the dining room table and grabbed an avocado which she was now joyously picking up and dropping on the floor repeatedly. I let out an angry and shocked gasp, causing her to freeze dead in her tracks. I stood in front of her, staring her down, as she tried to look anywhere but my face. Slowly she sat down, still avoiding my face, and after a moment, raised a sorrowful paw and pawed gently at me, begging forgiveness. At this point I was desperately trying to hold in the laughter, so I bent down and gave her a big hug, all ready to make amends. That is, until I turned around and saw that my little "angel" had grabbed a couple of kiwis and proceeded to decimate them all over the couch, covering it in green goo.
Which is why I'm still mad at my husband for a minor tiff. I may not be easy to live with, but I tell you this; the punishment doesn't fit the crime.

Wet Garbage

Today I had a client who was not only creepy, but had the worst breath I've ever smelled in my life. It literally smelled as though he had eaten a plate full of wet garbage before his treatment. It was so bad that the entire room stunk after. It was SO bad that I became sick to my stomach half way through the treatment and contemplated stepping outside for a few minutes. I've never experienced anything like it.
Not to mention his creepiness. Or was he simply creepy because of the God-awful smell seeping from his rotten craw? No, he was definitely creepy. And sexist. The bastard kept calling me a "little girl" (Excuse me, fuckwad. I am not a "little girl". I am a woman) and saying retarded shit like,
"Wow, you sure are strong for a little girl."
What the hell is that? Excuse me buddy, I'm a lot stronger than your pot-bellied ass, and if you'd like me to prove it I'd be happy to have you literally weeping for mercy in a matter of moments. Not to mention, who gave you the right to make a visual assessment of my strength and competence?
To make matters worse, when the massage was done he kept smiling and winking after everything he said. You have no idea how desperately I wanted to snarl, "Gross! Stop that! And for God's sake, brush your freaking teeth!" He got my card too. If that fat sack of crap thinks he's getting another appointment with me then he's even more stupid than he looks. Ick.
And people wonder why I'm quitting.