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...