Once upon a time he brought roses every week, he wrote love letters, only used his best manners and never ever farted.
So I married him.
And then the flowers stopped and the bodily gases started and it came to my attention that boys are very very gross.
We call that the bait and switch. Well played, sir. Well played.
So the other night I climbed into bed after a long day. The man was already there, all cozy-like under his weighted blanket, Iggy. We settled in for an episode of Veronica Mars on the Flix when, all of a sudden, this conversation ensued.
"The cat puked on my blanket," he says.
"Oh..." I said, my eyes naturally scanning the blanket. The puke was still there. Still. Weird, I thought. Why is it still there?
"Are you going to clean it up?" I ask.
"Eventually," he says.
Sooo....I got out of bed and cleaned it up.
Will the romance ever die? Gosh, I sure hope not.
Why would he clean it up when he can lie there and do nothing and have you do it? Here's what I would have done: "I'm not sleeping next to that. Let me take it to the laundry room for you." Then I'd have ripped the blanket off his bed, thrown it on the floor of the laundry room until he felt he could spend the time to remedy the barf. Until then, NO BLANKET FOR YOU.
ReplyDeleteThe blanket weighs 30 pounds. "Ripping" it off him would have resulted in me needing surgery on my ripped rotator cuff. Plus, a 30 pound blanket and three flights of stairs? No thanks.
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