This blog entry is about the stupid thing my husband did today. I was getting dressed this morning when Craig came in and said, "Red got out," as if he were a five-year-old kid and not a sixty-two-year-old man; and, as if I were his mother, and not his wife.

"Well," I said, gearing up to be sarcastic. "Why don't you go get him? I'm naked."

He left to look for the dog, but knowing I can't trust him with anything lest he screw it up, I threw my night gown and robe on while I was soaking wet, and ran out to the car. Our Beagle/Rhodesian Ridgeback is a biter (So sue me! I'm judgment proof. It's the only advantage to being poor).

He hasn't hurt anybody...yet. But with Craig's luck, it's just a matter of time. Red did chase our neighbor, the guy with Charles Manson eyes, down the street, while nipping at the guy's heels. He didn't break the skin, but scared the guy. His words of wisdom to me, even though I apologized, were to get my "sh*t together"--words so profound coming from someone who at forty, has to live with his father-in-law.

And then there is the nine-year-old jerk who lives further down the road. When Red got out the back door about a year ago, and started barking like crazy, she told an animal control officer that our "brown pit bull had attacked her". Our pit bull isn't what she needs to be afraid of; after telling that whopper of a lie, she should be afraid of me!

All of these things raced through my mind as I drove around the mobile home park, and within a two-mile radius. When I finally got back home, sans the dog, I saw Craig's jeep in the driveway and prayed he hadn't come home alone.

Yep, he had the dog. And nope, he didn't take any responsiblity for the dog's getting out.

"If you had put up the automatic door closer, like I asked, he wouldn't have gotten out," I said.

"I'm not the one who left the door open." As usual, he was shirking all the blame.

"I didn't either," I said. And for a moment, there was silence as it dawned on both of us how the dog had gotten out. I knew that Craig had figured it out, because instead of just admitting he was wrong, he ran into his room and shut the door to hide from me.

Craig had come in from his high-powered pizza delivery job at 11 o'clock last night, and didn't check or even lock the door before he went to bed. The door was left hanging open all night, so that any burglar or drug addict lurking in the park could have easily gotten inside.

My hero. My protector has never locked the door in the twelve years that we've been married. That is so unmanly; my dad always checked the door before HE went to bed. He also kept a billy club and gun under the bed to protect us.

If anyone broke into the house, I'd be the one to chase him off. The dogs are too comfy under the electric blanket to get up. And Craig wouldn't figure out what was going on until we had been robbed blind or our throats had been slashed--maybe even both.

I've been married three times, and when I was single, did a little online dating. I continually hear men say they don't want any "angry women" or "drama queens."

My response to them is, if you don't want angry women, or drama queens in your lives, then DON'T PISS US OFF! We aren't your mothers or your keepers. Do your part and you won't have anything to worry about.