Thursday, September 22, 2011

Shhh...don't tell my husband I am writing this

I am so afraid that this would crush his aspiring-to-be-helpful little heart. But I need to vent, dear readers, for I am extremely a bit compulsive and the perfectionist in me is ready to scream.

Dirty clothes go in the hamper. Easy, right? Not so much in my house. For a long time I would find soiled socks in the bathroom, unlaundered underwear beneath the bed, and even grimy gym shorts behind the couch in the living room. After a brief discussion regarding the fact that sullied clothes cannot rest peacefully until they have found their home in the hamper, I have found that said grungy garments are almost completing their journey on a regular basis. I say almost because more often than not, they end up next to the hamper, rather than inside of it.

Dirty socks NEXT TO the hamper
I used to find months-old dirty coffee cups hidden in desk drawers and spoons with things growing on them concealed in backpacks. Fortunately, begrimed dishes and flatware have been making their way to the sink as of late, and sometimes they even (wait for it) - end up in the dishwasher! I must make a confession, though...when my husband loads the dishwasher, and I open it up later to add more dishes, I usually end up completely rearranging it. I can't bear to see tiny dishes sandwiched between two large ones and forks co-mingling with spoons and knives. Am I alone in this?

Many a morning my poor behind gets greeted by little droplets of pee on the toilet seat. This has been a constant struggle since we moved in together. In the past, I found that no matter how many times I reminded him that my rear does not appreciate an early AM golden bath, I was still faced with wiping the seat down on a regular basis. Maybe it was my threatening to return the favor, but he has actually gotten better at this as of late. While it is no longer on the seat anymore, unfortunately I am now finding it on the floor. Dear husband, my feet don't appreciate that, either.

Instead of valuing the fact that he is making such an effort to help out around the house, I too often dwell on how he falls short of what I expect. From here on out I vow to stop being such an anal retentive twit. You can leave the socks next to the hamper, husband; it only takes a few seconds for me to throw them in there. Since I'll just rearrange the dishes if you put them in the dishwasher, feel free to leave them in the sink.

The only thing I won't budge on is the pee.  Wipe it, wherever it may fall.  Please and thank you.

Originally posted at The Adventures of Goober Grape & Monkey Man

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