We had to pull our oven out from in between our countertops because it wasn’t working right. Turns out, it’s an issue for the landlord. But, while it was pulled out I noticed all this gross ass grease dripping down the sides. So each time I walked passed it I would spray the sides with degreaser and vow to clean it on my next pass. This happened 6 or 7 times. Each time, me spraying more degreaser and vowing to wipe it down next time. Well, now it’s 10:30 at night and I’m heading to bed. I walk past the oven one final time to get myself some water from the sink and I realize enough is enough. I’m going to have to clean it. So I start scrubbing. Doug hears me and the following conversation ensues:

Doug: “Hez?”

Me: “Yes?”

Doug: “Are you cleaning the oven at 10:30 at night?”

Me: “Nooooooooo??”

Doug: (knowing that that kind of “no” means yes) “That’s quite meth-y behavior.”

Billie: (who absolutely should be asleep but somehow hears us from the bedroom) “Mommy’s on meth!”

Me: “Douglas. Do you hear what our child just said?”

Doug: “Don’t blame me. I didn’t give you the meth.”

Me: “I’m not on meth!”

Billie: “C’mon, lady! The first step is admitting you have a problem!”

Me: “Go to bed, Billie.”

Billie: “Fine. Goodnight, Crystal Mommy.”

🤦 This is what I get for cleaning.