If I didn't love him...

Let me start out this post by saying, I love my husband. Very much. He is a wonderful man.
Ok, enough disclaimer.
My husband works in construction. This means he is outside working for most of the day. Occasionally he will be working on the interior of a building, which makes weather pretty much a non-issue. Today was not scheduled to be one of those days.
It's only mid-October-ish but it is still getting pretty darn cold here during the day. Especially the early morning, when construction work usually begins.
Background established, cut to this morning.

Bob wakes up late. He apparently forgot to set his alarm. This has two effects: One, he runs around the house like a crazy person because he is late and Two: His scrambling stresses me out to no end and we usually end up in an argument over toilet paper or trash or some other ridiculous premise.
While he's scrambling to get dressed this particular morning, I am working on an article about a meeting I attended the night before. Clearly, I am preoccupied, because his constant griping about the location of his safety glasses is escaping me.

Bob: "Where are my glasses?" (This is his usual morning greeting by the way, before "Good Morning" or the even more rare "I need some coffee" or "Can you make me some sandwiches")

Me: "You really should put your glasses in the same spot every day."
Bob: "That's not helping me find them."
Me: "I don't know where they are!"

At this point I realize that I need to get up and at least PRETEND to look for the glasses, or be ensnared in an evil debate over sunglasses and the placement of said items after they are no longer useful, aka nightfall.

Bob: "Can't you just help me look? I'm already late."
Me: (Already up and looking) "I'm helping!"

Neither one of us can find the glasses, and when he eventually gives up, I give up as well.
Bob then goes into the bedroom to put on a warm sweater for work. The sweater he selects out of the clean clothes pile (shhh, I was busy yesterday) has two cigar burns in it and is sunbleached in spots, making it look semi tie-dyed.

Bob: "You shrunk my sweater!"

As if size was the main problem with this particular garment.

I examine the sweater and indeed the sleeves have bunched up along the ribbing. Bob is now furiously pulling at the sleeves trying to stretch them back out. Did I mention this was a fleece Raiders pullover? Anyway, I try to help stretch out the sleeves. He tells me he can handle it and I step away from the fierce beast my husband has become in the 15 minutes since he awoke.
Then he breaks the zipper on the pullover.

All hell breaks loose.

He pulls off the sweater, throws it on the bed and tells me to throw it out.
I go over to the bed, pick up the sweater and start heading out the door.

Bob: "What are you doing?"
Me: "I'm throwing this out."
Bob: "Don't throw it out, no, don't throw it out."
Oooooookay.

I put it BACK on the bed. I ask him if that was his only work sweater. He says yes. I ask him what happened to the one I just bought him.

Bob: "Someone stole it."
Me: "Someone stole it?"
Bob: "Yeah. I put it on my truck and then at the end of the day, it was gone. I asked everybody if they had my sweater but they all said they didn't. I told them, if I see you in a black sweatshirt, I'm kicking your ass. One guy told me, I have a black sweatshirt, but it's not yours. I should have kicked his ass. He's probably the one who stole it."
Me: "You're probably right honey. Have a nice day."

See, women aren't the only crazy, tempermental, insane people on the planet.

I did find his glasses later on in the day. They were on the family room couch, behind a pile of pillows. There was also a hat hiding back there and probably a shoe or a monkey or something.