Just after I’d finished writing yesterday’s entry, my husband got home brimming with excitement about a meeting he’d had that afternoon regarding a new consulting project. During this three-hour meeting, they’d made a possible breakthrough on a problem he’s been trying to solve for years. He started to tell me, “And the other guy said, ‘But doesn’t that violate Einstein’s theory of _____?’…'”

Alas, I will never find out if their idea does in fact violate Einstein’s theory, because by that point I was already laughing too hard for my beloved scientist of a husband to continue talking. You see, all I could think about was this: the entire time he was getting paid a ridiculous amount of money to sit in his office and talk about Einstein, I was shoveling poo onto our lawn.

The juxtaposition was just too good for me not to crack up, even though it clearly hurt his feelings that I did not in fact care about Einstein’s theory. No, I cared much more about the fact that my muscles were (and still are!) sore and my back hurt, I cared that my hands still felt dirty even after washing them about a thousand times, and I cared that I didn’t even get the entire freaking lawn done in a whole afternoon’s work.

Sometimes, life just isn’t fair. But then, as my mom so wisely pointed out — just look at Einstein’s lawn. Guaranteed it didn’t look as good as mine is going to. Ha. So there.