Sometimes, you just want to spit

I was in my main kitchen cupboard just now, the one where I keep the food that comes in boxes and cans and jars of herbs and spices that are too tall to fit into the drawer where I keep all the other ones (organized alphabetically, of course, because what is the use of having sleeping problems if you're not going to be awake solving problems like world peace and how to find the dried basil at a single touch?)

Anyway, I was looking for the garlic powder, which seems to always get shoved to the back. I was moving around various boxes when I picked up a box of taco shells and it was empty.

We had tacos and refried beans last night for dinner. I know this because I was the one who opened that box and arranged the shells into my 9x13 pan. And, well, I also ate them. When the girls came into the kitchen to clean up, instead of walking ten blasted feet and putting that empty box into the kitchen wastebasket, whichever one of those little creeps washed the counters elected to take the easy road and just put the box - empty! - back into the cabinet. Presumably so that I could find it later and say, "Omigosh! How funny! I thought I was buying a box of ten taco shells and it was empty! Ha ha! Boy, that grocery store really fooled me! I bet they sold me 24 empty cans of Diet Coke and an empty bread wrapper, too!"

It's times like this that just make you want to take the money you were going to spend on your children's birthday presents and hire the freakin' Merry Maids to come in and undo the senseless carnage that kids can perpetrate on an otherwise reasonable home and mother.