Sometimes he really just pisses me off. I know, I know, I piss him off too sometimes, but when that happens, he can write about it in his own damn blog. My Mister is pretty laid back for the most part. High maintenance, but pretty laid back, but somethings he's very particular about. Like, his shirts, not all his shirts, just his t-shirts. They are not allowed in the dryer, they shrink and he ends up owning a bunch of belly shirts. Not attractive. Mister is attractive, Mister in a belly shirt, not so much. So when it comes to doing his laundry, I wash and hang his shirts. Now, 99.9% of the time, this works perfectly. Today unfortunately, I was not so lucky. "Do I have any long sleeve shirts?", now first off, he know good and damn well that he does, he just wore one yesterday, so I respond, "ummmm....yeah". Here's were it gets dicey.
"Where are they?"
Walking in the room, I grab one out of the laundry basket and say "well here's one", knowing he's looking for a clean one, but I'm kind of a bitch sometimes.
"No, a clean one."
"Oh, why didn't you ask for that in the first place, let me run down and see if they are dry yet."
I get down there just to realize that yes the shirts themselves are dry, but the thick ribbing turtleneck parts aren't. Now I remind you, this has happened maybe twice in the last 18 years. I bring the shirts upstairs and explain to him the dilemma. He can either wear yesterdays long sleeve or put up with a slightly damp neck.
So then he begins with, "I think we..." I stop right there, because I want to let you know that just about anytime The Mister says "we" and it's regarding problem solving ideas, what he really means is "you" meaning, me.
"I think we need to find a better way of drying my shirts"
"Well, your the one who told me 18 years ago to never put your shirts in the dryer"
"Oh, so it's my fault the shirts are wet, I see"
"Um no, it's the washers fault the shirts are wet"
Now, here's the point were I'm starting to lose my patience, I hate it when he assumes things on my behalf. Just then I look behind him and realize that siting in his drawer, in plain damn sight, are not one, but two long sleeve shirts, clean, dry and nicely folded. So, I reach over and take them out, toss them on the bed and remind him that I'm not new at this whole housewife thing and proceed downstairs to finish getting his things ready for work. Then, without an "I'm sorry for being a complete jackass", he walked out the door muttering his daily "have a good day". Hmmm. Have a good day. I just got mad at you, questioned your ability and made myself look like a dumbass, but have a good day. Grrrrr.
Now, I know that this is trivial, I'm not dumb, but this is just one of those things that I find irritating and instead of keeping in inside to piss me off more and more through the day. I'm just gonna type it down. I already feel better.
Thanks for letting me vent. Feel free to do so back, any time.