It’s a popular thing nowadays to go over your accomplishments before the end of the year so that you can be proud, pat yourself on the back, and celebrate with a gift no one else bothered to give you. I have my share of pride-inducing moments like the time I ate a 150-gram — about 5 oz for those still in denial about the metric system — container of raspberries by myself. Or the time I managed to sleep for eight hours without waking up. Or the moment I signed with my publisher, sold an essay to a major publication, or held a solo art show.
But by far, my most pride-worthy achievement this year has been the realization that it’s time to give up any and all hope that at some point my husband will actually have a similar to mine thought pattern. That his thinking one day will, in fact, make sense. And that I will no longer have to explain the basics, point out the facts, or exercise my eyeballs with an excessive rolling routine every time he says something. I give you three examples that helped me achieve this breakthrough realization:
Our conversation about dog poop bags:
Mr. Me: Why doesn’t anyone except for me ever pick up doggie bags?
Me: What are you talking about? There are like 143 bags in a drawer next to the door.
Mr. Me: Yes, I know, but why am I the only one always getting them?
You see what I mean? Why would anyone care who gets the bags if we have the bags – a whole 100+ of them?
Our conversation about designer shoes
Me: These Valentinos are 40% off.
Mr. Me: Do you need another pair of shoes?
Me: Did I say need? I am saying they are 40% off.
Mr. Me: Why do you need them?
Me: Never mind. *cue in cash register sound*
How can anyone seriously not know that when you see Valentino shoes at 40% sale you buy them whether or not you need them?
Early morning in our house
His alarm goes off.
Mr. Me presses snooze button. Goes back to sleep.
Me — Wide awake. Begin attempts to get back to sleep.
Snooze goes off.
Mr. Me presses snooze button again. Goes back to sleep.
Me — Rage growing. More awake. Not a chance of going back to sleep.
Rinse and repeat the above process 5 times.
The guy has known me for 25+ years. Has slept next to me for about the same time. Knows that I am a light sleeper. Also knows I have trouble falling asleep. Whyyyyyyyy cannot he learn that snooze is a dirty word in my vocabulary? On the plus side I’ve known how to get in touch with my anger ever since I started sleeping next to him.