Wednesday, 15 March 2017

Obsession...

It was with some dismay that I noticed that the husband's late work jumper did not make the bin as I thought.  It is hanging in threadbare splendour from my hanging rail, where I put all my neatly pressed clothes.  I asked the husband why he hadn't binned it as planned, and he told me that he 'just couldn't face it'.

If it is still there this evening, I am planning a Viking funeral on a large puddle just outside our house. A couple of drops of lighter fuel and a stiff breeze should do it, and tah dah, jumper is no more.  I think that once he has a replacement, separation will be easier, but till then, I will probably have to put up with him dragging it around like a security blanket.

Lady H (she with an eye for a cobweb) was here yesterday, and do you know the weirdest thing?  The house looked exactly how she'd left it for over eight hours.  Of course, once the husband came home (shivering slightly as he had no jumper) then it all came to a shuddering halt.  As I walked around the kitchen before bed (my pre-sleep sweep) I could tell that he'd had a cheese sandwich (grated) with marmalade (sticky ring on the worktop).  He'd had a cup of tea. (Bag in the sink, bypassing the very handy waste disposal unit three inches to the left).  The milk was also still out.

This is where we are very different. I can't eat anything I've made, until I have cleared up.  The husband on the other hand uses as many kitchen utensils as possible, and leaves everything he has used out on the worktop until after he has eaten, at which point, he wanders back into the kitchen with his empty plate and murmurs, 'I was going to do that'.  Of course, my wonderfully inherited OCD (thanks mum) dictates that I am unable to leave any mess for less than a nanosecond, catching breadcrumbs before they hit the floor with an outstretched hand, and rinsing saucepans out as soon as the peas have been removed.  

I sometimes wish that I could just leave the mess.  I see my friends living in happy semi-squalor, negotiating their way through piles of stuff without a care in the world, while I am measuring the tea towels, making sure that they are equidistant on the oven rail.  I have a spirit level to keep the sofas at a comfortable 90 degrees angle, and I also like to polish my remote controls.

I am a lost cause.  Luckily, the husband appreciates having a wife who has a home for everything.

Unless that home is for a tatty jumper and involves a naked flame...


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