First off, I don't like the word "bananas" but I find myself saying it a lot. I don't know why, I just am. It's weird.
Anyways. So I don't know if it's because I've boycotted my anti depressant medication (actually, first I was too broke to get it and then that just morphed into being too lazy to go to the drug store and get it... so I'm going without. Matt's thrilled.) or if I'm maybe just getting cranky with age but living with other people is getting to me. Specifically, Matt.
I know one of the tough things about a marriage is not killing each other over time. It will never be all awesome and wonderful and I believe that anyone who told me it would be is not only a liar, but they are probably so far gone there is no hope. Matt and I have lived together for nine years, married for seven of those. And I have to be honest, none of his things bothered me before but they are now. No, scratch that. Some of them bothered me, we've talked about, I felt like we came to an agreement yet nothing changes. Let's go through some examples.
1. His laundry. Folks- I cannot even BEGIN to tell you how angry I am about his laundry. We have two laundry baskets in our house. One is upstairs in the closet NEXT to the bathroom. The other is right next to HIS dresser. It's next to his dresser (despite it being an eyesore and a constant reminder of more housework I need to do) because we agreed that if it was there he'd have no excuse. I also accept laundry to be left in the laundry sink since sometimes he's filthy and just undresses by the back door. Seriously. Call before coming over, people. Anyways. Every single mother fucking day, there is laundry on the bathroom floor, all over our bedroom floor and sometimes, he just leaves it on the laundry room floor. Seriously? How fucking HARD IS IT to just put it in a laundry receptacle? Huh? How hard? So I've taken to no longer picking it up. If it's not in the hamper, it's not getting washed. Do you think Matt cares he's going to work with filthy clothes? No. But it still makes me stabby.
2. His lunchbox. Every single fucking day (that he remembers to pack his own lunch like a big boy and bring it to work) he comes home and leave the fucking thing on the counter. No. I am not a maid. I will not empty out your dirty containers and put your stuff away. No. I'm not doing it. You know why? Because he leaves it RIGHT ABOVE the lower cupboard it goes in. He can't even go two inches further and put the damn thing away.
3. Jokes. I hate jokes. I really, really, really hate jokes. I hate when someone's like, "Oh- here's a good one for ya" because at that very moment I want to stab that person. I have told Matt this easily 7201 times yet he continues to come home with stupid fucking jokes that are never funny then gets mad at me because I don't think they're funny. They aren't. They suck and I'm stabby.
4. Wanting to have sex when I'm drop dead tired. He always, ALWAYS initiates when he knows I'm so effing tired that I can't say no. Which is kind of lame. Because then I can't even enjoy it. So the other night I was like, "Matt- I'm so tired. Seriously. I can't even think right now I'm that tired." His response? "It's OK- you'll fall asleep eventually." Whatta guy. I have a real gentleman, ladies. But on the other hand I'm like, go for it, because I'm too tired to care.
5. He is NOTORIOUS for eating the last of whatever I buy for myself. So, I only like the sour cream & onion Pringles but buy him multiple cans of his favorites, yet he opens and finishes my can first. Or if I buy my favorite ice cream, he will always eat most of the container and then save me literally, a 1/2 cup. What kind of shit is that? I have NEVER infringed on his snacks. Or desserts. Or anything that I know he would really enjoy eating. Nope.
6. He won't let me get a goat. Or a sheep. I don't think I have to explain how upsetting this is.
7. I also can't get a functioning laundry sink despite him yelling at me for doing laundry which clogs up the existing laundry sink resulting in both of us yelling and scooping out shit from the drain. We do it every three loads, people. Every three loads for SIX YEARS. Trust me when I say I am on the edge of finding the DIY instructions and starting it on my own.
8. When I am cleaning the house like a maniac, I really get pissed off when I get a "Hey- keep up the good work" or an "Atta girl!" from him. Seriously, asshole? I'm about to shove this mop up your asshole and let's see if I can still get an atta girl. If I'm busting my ass, I just don't think it's a lot to ask for someone to you know, do something.
9. For example, if you see I've been cleaning the floors on my knees to make sure I get even streaks (because I'm OCD and I can't help it) please don't walk on the floors until they are dry. Please don't traipse through my kitchen with your muddy shoes covered in grass clippings. I cannot and will not be held accountable for my actions.
10. I also hate when I'm told we're out of something, and it's so very clearly right there where it belongs. Where it has been for the last six years.
So, for those of you who have been married for awhile (or at least living with your partner for awhile) what do they do that drives you nuts? Do you think you do anything that drives them nuts in return? (For Matt, I would say my constant OCD cleaning drives him insane. Or having to have things put away precisely.)