Skip to main content

A man could go quite mad...

I have started to realise that there are many things about me which drive the husband mad.  When you first get together, those small faults are cute and a little bit quirky.  However, fast forward a couple of decades and they become a fairly acceptable excuse for manslaughter.  

I started thinking about this after the contretemps with the cutlery drawer a couple of weeks ago.  If you remember, the husband informed that that I was messing with his feng shui by putting the boiled egg spoons in with the dessert forks.  He only seemed to notice that I did this after I bought a new cutlery tray for the drawer, so I'm blaming Groupon for grassing me up.

The other thing is my snoring.  When we first met, this was described as 'endearing', and he told me that as he lay next to me at night, he used to smile to himself and listen to me.  This swiftly moved on to comparisons with a nasally challenged warthog, and more recently to a Boeing 747 with a noisy exhaust.  I'm considerate though, and try to stay away till I hear his snoring, which is far more delicate than mine.  Confession time...I once woke myself up thinking the house was falling down, before the husband quietly told me that it was my snoring I'd been woken by.  How did he know this?  Apparently, he'd been listening to it for seven and a half minutes, and contemplating murder for five of those.

Another thing which winds him up is my habit of squeezing my tube of toothpaste in the middle.  You'll notice the use of the word 'my' in this sentence.  Yes, this is my tube, as he has his own.  Do I moan about his neatly rolled down tube?  No I don't.  Once he had been reminded that what I did with my tube had no effect on him, he backed off slightly.  However, this came to an ugly head again a couple of weeks ago, when he asked to borrow some of my cream I use for my eczema. Why do people ask if they can 'borrow' something like this?  Like he's ever going to return it and try and get it back in the tube.  Anyway, I reminded his again that it was my tube, therefore my rules apply.

But his biggest hate is having to listen to music in the car with me.  I have to listen to the right music for my mood.  Here's an example.  The husband took me for a Sunday lunch a few weeks ago, and inflicted heavy trance music on me for a whole hour.  This isn't because he likes this kind of music, but because he downloaded it when we were planning on clubbing in Ibiza, and he thought it would be useful to know some of the music which would be played. I don't think he's worked out yet how to take this off perpetual shuffle so it was Fatboy Slim all the way to the pub.  What I like to do, is lean across and fast forward till I reach a suitable song (Sunday drive means a bit of Ed Sheeran with a smattering of anything between 1965 and 1972).  This can cause great fury in the husband, and is usually accompanied by him saying tightly, 'I like this one.  And it's my car, my radio and my songs, so back off'.

But notwithstanding all of this, he's still here, loving the very bones of me.

It's what a marriage is all about I suppose...


Comments

Popular posts from this blog

Say goodbye...

Here's a question for you.  Why is it that when we are dieting, we say that we have 'lost weight'.  To me this implies that at some time in the not so distant future, we're going to find it again.  I like to imagine a 28lb blob of yellow fat in a three piece suit, winking lasciviously at me and saying, 'Oi skinny.  I've missed you.  Fancy letting me ride shotgun around those hips again?'
So instead of 'losing weight' I am getting rid of it.  Throwing it away.  Killing it.   Banishing it, never to be seen again.  Previous experience tells me that I will probably have old Blobby hanging back around my middle in a couple of years, once I've tired of leaves and crispbreads, but I am trying to do things slightly different this time.  Slowing down the stampeding rate I eat (I blame hurried school lunches for this), speeding up the walking, and being more aware of what I am doing and why I am doing it.
Someone once told me that if I ever felt like pickin…

Cold wind blows...

I don't know how cold it is with you at the moment, but I spent yesterday morning snapping the two furballs off various trees and posts as we attempted a walk before I went to work.  I had made the schoolgirl error of asking myself, 'Just how cold can it be?' before putting one extra sweater on beneath my walking coat.  I also had my Olga from the Volga fur hat, a scarf and gloves (to be fair, I've been wearing all of these since the middle of October).  Unfortunately, what I hadn't taken into consideration was the above the knee dress I was wearing to work yesterday.  I imagined that the extra warmth up top would somehow work its way to my knees.  
I was wrong.
Getting back indoors after forty five minutes of combat with The Beast from the East, I looked down at my legs.  Even with the black 100 denier tights I was wearing, I could see that my legs had taken on a slightly different hue to normal.  They were looking like two red pillar boxes, and it took ten minutes …