Thursday Thirteen, Edition Fourteen:
Thirteen Ways in Which My Husband Annoys Me

1. He leaves half-full glasses of warm iced tea all over the house. Dishwasher? What is this dishwasher of which you speak?

2. When we are in the kitchen together and he is fixing himself a drink, he will inevitably try to put an ice cube down the back of my shirt just to hear me squeal.

3. He is never on time. I combat this by telling him that we are supposed to be someplace forty-five minutes before we are actually scheduled to arrive. It works for the most part although, you would think that after sixteen years of marriage, he would have caught on.

4. He blows his nose in the shower. In. The. Shower. My god.

5. We cannot watch a cop show, thriller, murder mystery, etc. without him telling me exactly what kind of gun any particular character is holding as well as the reasons that they aren’t holding it correctly. Baby, they are actors. It is all pretend. Chillax, already.

6. He leaves his dirty socks wherever he happens to take them off. Early in our marriage, he left them on the dining room table. There was an ugly scene. He is slightly more careful about where he leaves them, now. On a related topic, I recently discovered a pair of the Man-Cub’s dirty socks in the kitchen windowsill. Nature or nurture? Discuss.

7. On the rare occasion that he deigns to rub my feet, he falls asleep practically upon first squeeze. Seriously, it works better than any sedative known to man alas; I cannot harness the power for profit.

8. He procrastinates. Constantly.

9. He starts a project minutes before we are due to have company. From what I hear, this is a universal flaw of men.

10. He waits until I am finished with laundry before handing me a garment that needs to be washed, immediately. Dude, I do laundry every Sunday. Get with the program.

11. He keeps items of clothing until they are so tattered and worn that they are practically falling off him. Darling? There should be only three or four holes in a pair of underwear: the two leg holes, the hole from which you do your business and the opening at the waist. Period. Anything else is considered overkill.

12. When I ask him what he wants for dinner, his inevitable answer is “I don’t know” or “whatever”, neither of which I know how to cook.

13. The fact that none of these things bothers me half as much as they amuse me. Damnit.

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