Dirty In All The Wrong Ways

I get told on a regular basis how lucky I am to have a clean freak for a husband. He paints, he decorates, he furnishes and rearranges our rooms, he dusts, he sweeps, he vacuums (because of my secret fear of vacuums) and he takes care of the yard. I truly appreciate all of these things, and when I listen to other women bitch about how lazy their husbands are, I can inwardly smile with the satisfaction that comes with knowing my husband isn't like that. So how can I possibly resent what he DOESN'T do when he obviously already does so much? Easy - It's not what he doesn't do that bugs me, it's the things I want him to do that he doesn't do that drives me to a secret mental cyanide in your coffee rage.

Making the bed: Most men live by that "I'm just gonna sleep in it again, anyway" rule for why they don't make the bed. Obviously he's exempt because I'm still zonked when he leaves at the crack of dawn each morning. I personally couldn't care less if it is or not, but I usually make it anyway as part of my routine. But, on the days that I don't get around to it, it drives me BONKERS that he will then just get back IN the bed with the blankets and sheets twisted and uneven, so when it's time for me to go back to bed, the blanket is turned like a diamond, the sheets are a tangled mess under his ass, and half the pillows are missing.

Laundry: Yes, Jay does laundry quite a bit, mostly because my method involves washing, drying, and that's it. I don't care if clothes stay in the dryer for eternity, wrinkles are my best friend, and do not even ask me where our iron is. Having to wear dress clothes, obviously his regard for wrinkles isn't quite as friendly as mine. So he's very generous in his willingness to fold and put away MY clothes, too, since they're washed with his. What makes me want to pour bleach on his head is when he takes his socks off at night and puts them IN FRONT of the hamper. Literally RIGHT there. It's as if he can shovel snow for 3 hours straight, but moving his socks that extra 2 inches just wasn't physically possible. Right. There.

Light bulbs: I'm short and I know it. I also know HE knows it. I also know that he knows I can't reach half the light bulbs in the house without a chair whereas he just has to reach his arm up and twist. Not even a full reach half the time. Just a wimpy little "watch my biceps flex" and pow! The bulb is out. Will he change them? Ever? Hell no. He doesn't mind one bit if the bathroom is always dark, and if he can't see in the closet to get his clothes, whatever (he probably left them lying on the floor in front of the hamper, anyway). Would it kill him just once in a while to bring out his big guns for me? I might, but changing the bulb would not.

My meager input: His taste in all things home related is flawless, and I absolutely love to brag about everything in our home that looks great only because of his magic touch. But.....every once in a blue moon, I like to contribute just a tiny bit. I may find a picture, something decorative, or something to plant outside. Never anything huge, but somehow if it isn't HIS idea, he'll pretend it doesn't exist. He'll come home sick as a dog, but won't even consider skipping mowing the lawn if the grass is 0.000002 inches higher than he thinks it should be. He will water everything, front and back, for an hour even though we have sprinklers. His mental honey-do list (I think he actually thinks of himself as "honey") will never, ever go uncompleted. But my cute little plant sitting in the garage that I thought was colorful and would look cute next to all of his PLANTS? Well, let's put it this way: It's going to die a sad, slow death of neglect in the cold dark garage before one of us finally puts it out of its misery. Not entirely unlike what I will probably be doing to him.