Relationships and marriage – they can be tough. No matter how perfect you and your partner are for each other making a long term thing work, well, it’s just that – WORK. Now, I love my Wifesy. Wholeheartedly. Everyday I’m happy that she exists and that I get to wake up next to her. But, even as perfect as I find my little lady, she has other things that drive me nuts. To me, you know you have found THE ONE when you are willing to take those nutty things and shove ‘em right under the rug. There will always be things that don’t match up correctly, but if you can make light of them, laugh about them, you’re on a path to make one another better and to truly become a more whole person through your relationship. That’s what I was always searching for. That’s what I’ve found in Wifesy. However, the stuff that drives you nuts should be examined if for nothing else than as fodder for my blog. (he, he)
So, here’s what makes me nuts-balls about Wifesy:
1. She thinks I’m her pack mule.
Wifesy refuses to carry things – EVER. The other day I said to her, “Are you trying out for some kind of life-survival show? Do you think you’re going to have to instantaneously outrun a leopard? Is that why you refuse to carry anything in your hands?”
This is Wifesy’s wallet:
It’s a man-wallet that I bought for her because Wifesy must have the thinnest wallet known to mankind, so she can slip it in a pocket when she carries it at all. She only does this when I am not with her. When I am with her, she hands it to me – along with her phone, and her keys, and whatever else she might want to bring. Basically, she hands me what should be the contents of her purse, as she thinks of me as one, giant, purse.
It doesn’t matter, I still love her. So, I carry it. But, oh, how I complain. I revel in giving her shit about it.
2. If you last wore it in the 70’s, it should be thrown out.
Wifesy has a clown shirt. Wifesy is not in the circus.
This is a very close replica of the shirt she has, only exchange the circles for stripes. I don’t understand this shirt. I don’t understand what it goes with. The shirt confuses me and almost drives me to anger. In our almost five year relationship, I’ve never seen Wifesy wear it even once, but she refuses to part with it. It sits in the closet, where I belittle it, constantly.
3. Baby’s first computer
Wifesy deals with computer problems by stabbing at the keyboard violently and yelling at the screen. I have to let her go through this. She stabs and screams and wails and complains. Once she goes through her “process” she hands over the laptop to me with a tear in her eye. I usually fix the issue in about 5 seconds. After the problem is solved, there is almost a full minute of silence where, I’m assuming, Wifesy contemplates why she got so upset. She takes the laptop on her merry way and we never speak of it. Days later, the process repeats itself. I’ve taken to saying, “What’s the matter? Is this baby’s first computer?” like a total d*ck whenever she has a problem and is throwing an electronics-centered tantrum. In all honesty, I’m not even sure I would change this quality about her. It just amuses me too much.
The Things About Sweet Mother that Drive Wifesy Banana-Crackers:
1. I own a fanny pack.
(First, some international clarification: In the US, the fanny is in the back. Across the pond, it is in the front. I don’t know what happened when the pioneers traveled over in regards to this word. My guess is some young pioneer woman had her skirt on backwards and a young pilgrim man tried to enter the front door, but instead got the back. This is how language evolves. Or at least, I wish it were.) Now, wait a minute, wait a minute before you insert lesbian joke here, it’s a cool fanny pack. It is for hiking and biking. It is not where I carry my essentials like a lesbo-subsitute purse. I have actual purses and bags for that sort of thing. It is what I use for hikes and treks. It’s cool. It looks like this:
It does not look like this:
Wifesy can not tell the difference. She has fanny pack blindness. They all look the same to her and she feels that they should never be worn under any circumstances. Period. I still wear it when we go hiking because that’s what we do to one another. I also, usually, have to carry her wallet within my fanny pack. So, it’s a lose – lose situation.
2. I have a “mom shirt” or two.
Wifesy has a female cousin with mental problems or maybe emotional problems, I’m not sure which. All I know is that she’s an overweight girl, who is incredibly shy, in her 40’s, still lives with her mom, and the exact opposite of me. One day, she came to a family party of Wifesy’s wearing a shirt that was similar to one of the shirts I own. Wifesy said, very loudly, “LOOK, HUN, KATRINA HAS YOUR SHIRT. DO YOU SEE THAT SWEETIE, KATRINA, HAS THE SAME SHIRT AS YOU. ISN’T THAT REMARKABLE, THAT SHE’S WEARING YOUR EXACT SAME SHIRT??!!!” The subtext was, “Sweet Mother, do you want to be a sad cat lady living alone in a garage out the back of your own mother’s house? Yes? Then, by all means, continue wearing that ugly, mom, shirt you have.”
I still have the shirt, I still wear it. It’s my way of making sure Wifesy’s love is unconditional. Thankfully, it is.
3. I don’t always want to split a coffee or share a meal and sometimes I leave the clean laundry inside-out. These things make Wifesy nutso. Now, we often share a meal at a restaurant, but if I’m starving, I sometimes want my own and OFTEN I will NOT share my feckin’ coffee. Coffee, for me, is often the only reason I am approachable at all, some mornings. So, let me have a vat of it and let me be. Wifesy does, but not before she comments that I’m a nutball and why don’t I like sharing??!! I think Wifesy feels this way because Wifesy is an only child. She’s never understood the idea of fighting off an onslaught of siblings and cousins so you can be alone with your feckin’ ring ding. My brother has lifelong bruises to prove that sometimes I just need to be left alone with my sh*t. In this case, I should be left alone with my morning coffee that is if anyone wants to make it to the afternoon.
And lastly, I know God is in the details. However, sometimes I still hang up my laundry in the closet even though it is inside-out. Why? Because I don’t give a rat’s poo. It’s not on the floor, it’s put away, this is my way of saying, “No, indeed, I am NOT OCD.” Wifesy, on the other hand, may be.
I don’t care. I’ve got a big rug. (Yes, I just said that.) I have plenty of room to shove Wifesy’s amusing neuroses right under it. After all, she tolerates mine.
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