I'm gunna kill him

I come home tonight at 7:25--a bit later than I've been getting home lately because I had an extra hour. I'd left chicken defrosting for him to make dinner with, but no explicit instructions. What does he decide to do with it? Wake fried chicken tenders for dinner. With the kids. I come home to Dixie cutting the chicken into small pieces with a large knife and dropping it into the raw egg and Melody flouring everything. Of course they're wearing new velvet dresses with no aprons and standing on upholstered chairs. Charlie is screaming at Dowlan's feet while he mans the stove.

So I come in, take over, get the kids decontaminated and Charlie calmed. I see that Dowlan has microwaved some frozen broccoli and think 'Ooh, he remembered a vegetable. Points for Dowlan.'

Then Dowlan drops the broccoli in the left over hot oil from the chicken and fries it up a bit, then covers it in a sauce. Yes, you read that right: the man fried the broccoli.

We sit down to dinner and the kids tell me about their project. Melody drew up some plans to make stilts, so they went outside and made them. Hmmmm--small, clumsy children with power tools making stilts out of metal and splintery wood.

Could someone please find this man a job so that I can go back to caring for the children?