The Gandhi Complexion

Sometimes I want to just be in a bad mood. For no other reason than to be in a really rotten mood. This bugs and offends my husband a lot.
You see I am married to Gandhi, reincarnated as a 6 foot 3 inch Anglo Saxon. He doesn't understand why I get angry and why I can't just spin my upset into something positive. I respond with, "Because I can't" which isn't ever understood by him.
Thus, the Gandhi complex and thus why I can only pity Gandhi's wife.
I have this image I've concocted of Gandhi's wife (yes, he was married and had a bunch of kids, but of course, most people don't realize this).
I imagine Gandhi's wife, alone (Gandhi is missing dinner again), trying to convince her children to eat their vegetables.
"But I don't like Brussels sprouts!" One son is complaining.
"Oh, you'd better eat your Brussels sprouts, young man!" the tired and often lonely mother counters.
"But why? Dad doesn't have to eat his Brussels sprouts!"
"Are you trying to save your country? Are you? Well, as soon as you are saving your country like your father, then you don't have to eat your Brussels sprouts!"
*
I have told my husband my theory of his reincarnation. He asked me what he could do to change this (which is so...Gandhi-like in itself). I looked at him. And then I shouted, "Jeez! Would you just go eat a muffin Gandhi?"
To his infinite credit, he has tried (except he recently gave up sugar, so he'll have to figure out something else to eat instead...)
And so I am left to figure out how to get myself to eat Brussels sprouts and how I can spin it into being Hostess Ding Dongs.