Today's Breakdown is Brought to You by...

Today's breakdown is brought to you by the letter "M" and the letter "E" and also by the number "9." 

Yes, those are the words echoing through my head as I get ready to head to sleep tonight.  It finally happened.  After about four straight weeks of remodeling and only nine days of living in our new home, I snapped.  As Mike and I were hanging a teeny tiny bathroom cabinet door, I freaked out.  I hung the door.  I grabbed my keys.  I went for a walk. 

By the way, going for a walk inside of a gated community is kind of like reminding yourself that you're a rat in a cage.  I walked to the south wall.  Then I went to the east wall.  Finally I headed all the way to the northwest corner and found our front door.  I walked in the front door and stood in the kitchen.  Mike came in the back door. 

"Where did you go?"  He asked. 

"For a walk." 

"Why?" 

Kipp, come one.  Why did you go for a walk?  You are acting like a lunatic.  These past few weeks you've been behaving like some medieval twit, an ignoramus, you're not yourself.  Finally I answered him. 

"Because I didn't want to be here." 

And with that, I began tidying up and grabbing the most miniscule specks of dirt off of the carpet and floor.  He picked up on that right away.  It was a classic case of "don't look me in the eye."  With one swoop, Mike had grabbed me and started hugging me.  I was a waterworks.  I kept thinking of the character on the old show Third Rock from the Sun when the female alien discovers her ability to cry.  She comes into the room one day and when the rest of the aliens see her crying and ask what's wrong with her, she screams out "I'M LEAKING!" 

I, my friends, began leaking. 

A few minutes later and after the demolition of a few tissues, I had stopped leaking.  I had down graded my outburst from a Stage V tear attack to a Stage II mood swing.  We hung a few doors, moved two dressers, and headed off to Lowe's. 

So for anyone that knows Mike or has met him, please know that this man is a saint.  After almost four years of dating and nine days of living together, he hasn't killed me and/or run screaming away from me and my family.  God bless Mike.  God help him. 

But hey, at least I admit when I'm a lunatic.  Happy Easter.