A few days ago I posted a bit about Things I Do That I'm Pretty Sure My Husband Hates. Lest you think that he is some long-suffering martyr who puts up with the most selfish, slovenly, surly woman God ever created, let you in on something: he's not exactly Prince Charming himself, sometimes. Although he is very easy to get along with (most of the time) and so laid back that he's been known to scrape the back of his head on the ground sometimes, he has a few habits that render me senseless with rage. Some of these he can't help, but by God, some of them he can and I know he chooses not to!
1. He has trouble with spacial relationships. "Beside" the hamper is not "in" the hamper. This also is the case with the dishwasher, the closet and the garage. For some reason, he seems to think that putting things close to where they need to go is good enough. Not so, because it is me who ends up completing the transaction.
2. He is stupid like a fox. When asked why things are where they are, which is not where they are supposed to be and usually in my way, he feigns complete idiocy and pretends he has no clue whatsoever as to what I am ranting about. He does not mind that anyone may take him for the resident moron, and knows full well that whatever it is, it is not his problem any more.
3. He never fully completes a project. If the Loudshoes family had a motto, it would be "Ut Mos Operor" ("That Will Do"). He starts a project, he gets most of the way through, until things are at least functional,(if I am lucky) and then just..... stops. (Drywall seems to be the Mister's kryptonite, because that is usually where the project comes to a complete and utter halt and remains, in suspended animation, for another couple of years.) Sometimes, the project only gets to the "buying all the new stuff" phase before being ignored completely. I have no doors on a cupboard in the kitchen and several large sheets of maple in the downstairs hallway for about eight years now.
4. He sniffles. I know the poor man has allergies and can't help the way he feels but OH MY GOD the sniffling in the morning enrages me to the point where I find myself thinking, seriously thinking, of where I could reasonable hide the body.
5. He hates rice pudding, bread pudding, coffee and Kalamata olives. Now, you would be hard pressed to find a easier person to feed that Himself. I mean, he's eaten almost every single thing I've ever put in front of him, even stuff I couldn't choke down myself. But he hates four of the things I love most in the world.
6. He cannot be early for anything. I grew up in the House of the Hyper-Punctual. If you were late for anything, the hounds of hell would be unleashed on your head. This has rendered me a mite particular about being on time. The Mister has a much, much more cavalier attitude towards punctuality, and it makes my head burst into flames. I've cured him of the most egregious lateness (i.e. stepping into the shower at the precise time we were supposed to be arriving somewhere), but he still cannot seem to get himself out the door with any margin for error. We arrive everywhere at the last possible second, me in a funk and him clueless as to why. The concept of actually being early for something is completely out of his imagination.
He does have many, many positive attributes (he can do math in his head, he can open jars, he is kind and doesn't spit and he makes a very good show of listening to me), so if this is the worst I can come up with, I think we're doing okay. You may need to ask him about that, though.
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