My husband has been home for approximately twenty five minutes. He came home just after the children had got their pyjamas on and brushed their teeth. They ran to greet him at the door, H being carried at the front, L at the back and Y groaning with the strain of having 32 extra kilos bouncing on him. I calmed the children down and read them a story while he changed his clothes and ate his dinner. After I’d put them to bed, I came downstairs and washed out his can of beer that he’d left on the kitchen counter to put in the recycling box, put his dish that he’d plopped in the sink in the dishwasher, turned off about four lights that he’d left on, the bathroom light, the cooker hood light, the extractor fan, put the little frying pan in the sink (he’d used it to fry an egg), and wiped down the hob which was covered in oil from frying egg a little too ferociously, put the cooking oil back in the drawer underneath where it was left out on the counter, and put the egg shell in the bin as opposed to the sink. This took me all of five minutes, but with every step of it, I was getting more pissed off. Pissed off at myself for being so bothered, and pissed off at him for not doing something that takes hardly more energy than the way he had done it in the first place.
I blame living on my own for three years. Living alone gets you set in your ways. You can make a mess because ultimately, you are the one who will clean up. And before you suggest it, I’ve tried leaving Y’s mess as it is. I have yet to know how long it would take him to clean it up because I’ve always caved in after about two days. The problem, of course, is that he is out at work and I am here for pretty much most of the day (thanks to this crazy hot summer). Everytime I go into the kitchen, there is the empty dirty beer can sitting on the counter, there is the oil, sitting out on the counter, there’s his coffee mug, sitting on the living room side table.
I have lived with my husband for seven years. It’s pretty safe to say that after all this time, nagging and rowing about me tidying up after him, that things are unlikely to change.
This is my husband. He’s obviously not bothered about clutter.
This is me. I am.
Do you accept your spouse for all that they are, or do you simply tolerate their annoying habits? If you do accept them, I’d like tips, because “don’t worry about it” doesn’t work for me. I need to know HOW not to care about it. I’ve tried, I still try, but every little thing I put away, my mind boggles at. How is it faster to put a dish in the sink than the dishwasher? The dishwasher is on the counter right next to the sink. It has a door that is very easy to open. If it has space and dirty pots inside, put it in there. Ok. So the point is that there’s a door. It’s hidden. That’s all I can think of. It’s just going that little extra mile. Same with the egg shell. Why put the egg shell in the sink when you can just put it in the bin? Because the bin has a lid. It’s a hinged lid that just requires the push of a button, but it is still one extra thing to have to do.
So now I understand it in theory, but my common sense doesn’t really accept it. I don’t accept that he thinks like this, because it’s not the same as I think. Who says my way is right? I do. I’m bloody minded. But I really really really believe that my way makes more sense!! So I tolerate his ways, even though I can’t accept them. Men are extremely irritating. There isn’t a day that goes by that I don’t wish I were a lesbian.