My post was (obviously) going to be about how I’m on the warpath today.
I opened up my blog, checked a couple things, then clicked the nifty +(pencil) button to start a new post. That post was going to be all about how I’ve been in a foul, bitchy mood today.
And then I saw this.
Everything moved around.
That’s all I have to say for you, WP.
Now I’ll get back to the reason I logged on in the first place. People in my household have been pissing me off this week. We are not very far into the week, either.
Sam and Little Man. I love them to death (which is necessary to say before ever bitching about your loved ones), but fuck…those are the two slobbiest human beings on the face of this earth. If not the earth, then at least on my street. As you can guess, the little one gets it from the big one.
“If you eat something, put the dish in the sink.”
“If you pour a drink, put the container back.”
“If you take off your clothes, put them in the hamper.”
“Don’t throw clean clothes that you decided not to wear in the floor; put them away.”
“If you spill something, wipe it up.”
You get the picture. You know how it is. You feel my pain. Unless you’re the one causing your spouse/parent undue frustration…in which case, STOP.
Sam keeps telling me that if I want him to clean his messes, that I should just tell him and then if he doesn’t do it, bitch at him until it’s done. No, just don’t be a total slob and cut out the need for my blood pressure to go up and get all pissy, ‘kay? And did you miss the words “mood disorder”? So why would you want to go there, anyway?
Today, after Sam threw a pile of clean shirts in the floor and didn’t pick them up or act like he gave a crap when I got pissed, I decided to take things a step further–I bagged his shit up. Everything in our room that he had carelessly strewn about that should have been hung up, in a drawer, in the hamper, or in the shoes closet, was put in a kitchen bag. And it filled the whole damn thing. I didn’t really plan to throw it out, but it made me feel better.
While I was in the kitchen cooking supper tonight, Sam popped in.
“Um, what’s with the bag full of my clothes?”
“That’s the Goodwill bag,” I answered.
“But I wear those.”
“Those were strewn all over, so I assumed you didn’t want or need them anymore.”
He got it.
“They weren’t all mine. I saw a pair of Baby Girl’s pajama bottoms in there,” he said defensively.
I gave him The Look of Death.
“But I’m sorry, I should have put them away. I’ll do that now.”
“Next time the bag gets donated,” I told him. I won’t up and take his clothes (especially ones that might be dirty) to Goodwill, but I’ll sure as hell hide the bag from him until he doesn’t have anything in his drawers to wear. And it’ll be colder soon, too. Boom, see how you like wearing a sleeveless shirt and athletic shorts to the dentist. As long as we aren’t together, in which case maybe something with sleeves and a pair of jeans will make it into drawers.
(And again, I feel obligated to say that I love my husband, he does many wonderful things, blah blah blah, so no one tells me I hate my spouse or that the marriage is doomed.)
What does your spouse/partner do to drive you crazy?