My own special version of Mr. Right.

I’m getting… “older.” 30 is just around the corner. And while some of you swoon and think, “Oh to be young again,” there is a crowd with equal, misguided enthusiasm thinking to themselves, “Wow. You’re old!” But I wasn’t always this old. Life had a lot going on for me before I got myself knocked up. And I certainly wasn’t always this crazy. I remember a time when I was only slightly, and socially acceptably, insane.

I also remember the good ole days, when I would put something away in the cupboards, in the same place every time I put it away, and when I would go to find it later… it would still be in the same spot I put it in. I remember a time when having some chips meant I would go to the pantry, locate the bag of chips that had been purchased less than 48 hours before that, and it would still be there. Mostly full of chips. Chips actually went stale in my house. I threw away so many partial bags of chips. But that was long, long ago, in a land far, far, far away. Because now… I live with a 6 foot tall, 240 pound Silverback Gorilla, and he thinks it’s hilarious to make me cry. And scream. And straight-jacket-laugh.

He puts the cookie sheets on top of things already so tall that you literally have to kneel on the floor to even see them, hovering there above all the other crap crammed in there, in one spot, even though we have so many cupboards in our kitchen, after 3 years of living in this house, that there are several that are still. Completely. EMPTY. He has a new place for the tupperware every time he puts them away, sometimes up by the coffee cups… sometimes on the other side of the kitchen by the bowls, I guess it depends on his mood, I don’t know. Then, there is a large cup/thingy that sits on the counter next to the stove that holds all the utensils I use like tongs and spatulas…. he knows about it. We bought it together. He helped me pick out the color. It’s been sitting there for over a year now, mostly full of other utensils. But nope. He puts them in a drawer… and then the best part is—he can NEVER remember where he puts what. Never. Not ever. And that’s just kitchen stuff. This bleeds into the rest of our world… it’s infuriating. How the fuck am I supposed to know where the hell he put his watch?? Maybe if there was a place…. or less than 10 places…. that he regularly put it….. !??!?!?

He also eats all the chips, and he eats all the Oreo’s, I can no longer keep a fucking jar of salsa in the house, and if I make a batch of 16 cookies and leave them on the counter to cool, you better believe I only have like 4 to put away for tomorrow. If even that many. When he helps with laundry, he puts our younger child’s clothes in the oldest child’s closet because he can’t tell the difference, so my poor 2nd grader goes to school looking like a freak.. Then he can NEVER remember to check him on the way out the door to school, so I usually don’t find out until I pick him up, looking all homeless and shit. I can only imagine what his teacher thinks sometimes.

And he has OCD… and he’s quite anal about some things… which makes all of this even MORE infuriating. When he does the dishes, he has to make stacks. They make absolutely no sense, they are just random dishes he has put into stacks of 3 to 5 items, so he can “fit them in the sink better”… and the way he loads the dishwasher is just flat out funny. I can’t even explain.

It’s ridiculous. He is ridiculous. He also suffers from tunnel vision, so usually he isn’t paying attention to more than one thing at a time… so if he’s messing around on the computer, and the 2 year old is starting a fire in the middle of the living room…. right in front of him…. there’s a fair to certain chance that he is completely oblivious to it.. and will act offended when I point out to him what an idiot he’s being.

It’s infuriating. I think I have actually lost hair. Like—the follicles have died and they are never coming back. But he’s sweet. So apparently that cancels all that other shit out and makes me feel bad from time to time. Right now is not one of those times.


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