I love him. He’s vaaanderful. He’s my best friend, the father of my bebe, the fixer of broken things, the wiper of poopy baby butts. He’s quite the catch!
But..he’s still a man. A man who does ‘man’ things. Like pretending he’s listening to me when I am committing one of the greatest unwritten biblical sins: talking during a college football game on tv. Involving a SEC team. Gasp. I know, I should be stoned to death as I am typing this.
Or leaving his clothes on the floor instead of in the laundry basket, because, you know, that might require him to take 2 more steps, and walking isn’t to be wasted.
Or leaving his socks everywhere. Everywhere. I swear, they multiply. The man has more socks than Imelda Marcos had shoes. Little black socks. He takes them off and wads them into little black socks balls, and I find them everywhere. I have dreams about them. They haunt me.
Or leaving dishes scattered around the house. Or leaving the toilet seat up so I that I fall in during my midnight visit………
You get the point.
This is new.
I like to call this one the “I’m-looking-for-one-of-my-(cursed)-black-socks-and-instead-of-closing-each- drawer-after-I’m-finished-searching-it-I-will-pull-out-the-proceeding-drawer-even-further-because-I-can’t- be-bothered-with-such-trivial-matters-as-drawer-closing” man thing.
Looks kinda like artwork, doesn’t it?
I learn something new every day.