Friday, 3 April 2009

A fricassée of deadly nightshade*

Alone in the hissing laboratory of his wishes, Mr Pugh minces among bad vats and jeroboams, tiptoes through spinneys of murdering herbs, agony dancing in his crucibles, and mixes especially for Mrs Pugh a venomous porridge unknown to toxicologists which will scald and viper through her until her ears fall off like figs, her toes grow big and black as balloons, and steam comes screaming out of her navel.

This is not about the neon pink techtonik dancing elephant. The elephant dances on, and we are sort of existing peacefully, if unsustainably, in parallel. This is just about cohabitation. The daily grind of cohabiting with another human being who doesn't share your view on the correct temperature for soup, or beds, or the proper way of hanging washing. And the dark thoughts that come as you untangle the wet mass of mildewed clothes on the racks or shut the front door properly for the eight thousandth time. Dark, dark thoughts..

Isn't it HARD? Are we sure it's a good idea? Wouldn't separate apartments, à la Tim Burton/Helena Bonham Carter, be a better plan? I don't think the CFO and I do too badly at mutual tolerance, after 15 years, but I'm still terribly bad at living with another human being most of the time. It's not the big stuff - even though our body clocks are entirely incompatible and I would rather remove all my limbs from my body with a Jane Asher cake crimping tool than spend a minute watching the news on TF1 with the nonsensically named 'Laurence Ferrari' and he can't BELIEVE anyone could spend so much money on books. No, it's the tiny drip of repetitive acts of minor irritation that are the killer.

Here's your arsenic, dear. And your weedkiller biscuit. I've throttled your parakeet.

I know exactly the ways in which I make him long for strychnine. I:

- Leave the light in the loo on. All the time. It's a mental block, I just can't switch it off. Leave all the lights on, actually.

- Lose my keys repeatedly in stranger and stranger ways. Never have them when it is time to leave the house, ever.

- Wipe surfaces with anything I can find, including socks and jumpers.

- Demand more and more animals and then get bored with them.

- Insist on having a hot water bottle until May.

- Leave the butter out to go soft and sweaty and disturbing.

- Eat with my fingers.

- Run in the opposite direction when the phone rings and refuse to answer it.

- Cannot deal with any paperwork until it has marinated for at least 2 months. Preferably nearer six. Even if the paperwork in question is capable of generating actual cash money if dealt with.

- Wear clothes as pyjamas, then pyjamas as clothes in an infernal cycle only broken by going to work occasionally (and not always then).

- Keep my money and cards and tram pass in a sort of rough bundle that I transfer from pocket to pocket, shedding €50 notes and credit cards as I do.

- Grind my teeth endlessly.

Sly and silent, he foxes into his chemist's den and there, in a hiss and prussic circle of cauldrons and phials brimful with pox and the Black Death, cooks up a fricassee of deadly nightshade, nicotine, hot frog, cyanide and bat-spit for his needling stalactite hag and bednag of a pokerbacked nutcracker wife.

I roll my eyeballs 360° in my skull and dream of spiking his crisps with Marmite when he:

- Says "bouge pas" when he means "bouge". If I am standing in front of the dishwasher and you want me to move, don't say "don't move". Duh.

- Is unable to tolerate the fridge door being open for more than a hundredth of a second without twitching. Onoes! The evil will enter the fridge and destroy us all!

- Cruelly pops all balloons the instant the spawn go to bed in the manner of a balloon terminator;

- Sighs "d'accord" in a narky and put upon manner when I ask nicely for a cup of tea;

- Eats maquereau au vin blanc (a rebarbative concotion of pure vinegar and fishiness) straight from the tin when he gets drunk.

- Puts the butter in the fridge to get hard and horrible, along with the tomatoes and avocados.

- Stomps out of the house prematurely and with empty hands when we go out, and then stands fulminating as I scrabble around, collecting up all the things we need to take.

- Cannot stand bedtime to slip more than a second, or his eyes start popping and he starts barking orders.

- Closes the blinds in the kitchen so we have to sit in sepulchral semi-darkness, even in the middle of the day.

I know it's important that we should co-exist, and get our corners knocked off, and become less wedded to our obsessive routines. I subscribe to that wholeheartedly. I even had two children in rapid succession so the first one wouldn't end up a with my own imperious tendencies. But even so, I often I find myself stroking Lives of the Great Poisoners, thoughtfully.

What are your most irritating trivial habits? What can't you bear that your co-habitee does without fail? And please, noone try and tell me to be more forgiving and better at compromise, because my heart is black and sulphurous and my soul is selfish.

(*Title and italic portions from Under Milk Wood, Dylan Thomas)


Titian red said...

The dishwasher has to be packed "just so"
Mugs have to go in the cupboards in a certain arrangement
My shoes, in or out of boxes, have to be left on the bedroom floor so I can think about them.
Silent One dries his hands on teatowels
I will not, ever, hoover
I am allowed to shout - a very lot - whenever I want, about anything. No one else may raise their voices because it scares me.
Yup, I am really easy to live with....
WV sessepit - sums it up really !

katyboo1 said...

I pee without shutting the door if it is only family in the house. There is no point not doing it because the children immediately break in. He however thinks he will turn to a pile of vampiric dust if he even sees me go into the bathroom with the mere intention of having a wee.

I steal all the bedcovers, all the time, even if we have two lots of bedclothes.

I never shut the bedroom door properly and allow chinks of light to actually enter the house occasionally.

I am always too noisy in every single thing that I do.

He leaves his socks all over the house, all the time, including on table tops, which drives me totally mental.

He compulsively checks sell by dates and eat by dates and all food related possible poisoning moments all the time in case I might accidentally kill him.

I might, but that's not the point.

katyboo1 said...

p.s. I always liked Mrs Ogmore Prichard best of all.

mothership said...

I never do anything irritating ever.
However sometimes I am accused of singlehandedly trying to destroy the planet by putting things into the recycling bin that do not belong there ("that is plastic number 7, they do not recycle that") or using too much paper (WTF is it with men and 'too much paper'? He is not the first I have heard this from and I am not the only woman who reports this)
He objects to my using an electric blanket 8 months of the year but always tries to lie on my side of the bed.
HIS SNORING. I am murderous.
Repacks the dishwasher, putting plastic things on the bottom which I then have to put back on the top as they are only 'top shelf safe'
He will clean the kitchen but his signature style is to leave 'one thing undone' and it is usually left in a brine of fetid, greasy, cold water in one side of the double sink for me to put my hand in and unplug the next morning - I particularly hate putting my hands in cold water.
He won't flush his pee - it saves water - but our 1 year old likes to 'go fishing'. EEUUWWW
Ok, I have to stop now before I drive to University and shoot him in front of his students.
I do actually love him most days, but not right now. I blame you.

carolinefo said...

You live with a man who tells you to 'bouge'?

you have my deep, deep sympathy.
but thanks for reminding me just how happy I am to be encore seule.

During my last liaison dangereuse last summer, with the energetic young Kurdish stonemason with a predilection for sexual origami (ultimately tiresome - if I'd wanted to spend that much time with my legs behind my ears, I would have taken up yoga), I was startled by just how much I wanted him to GO AWAY after our afternoons/nights of passion. Agreed, there was a certain level of linguistic incompatibility which rendered deep and meaningful conversations challenging, but it wasn't that: it was really - 'OK, I want to read and do stuff now. Please STOP BEING THERE'

This is why am no longer fearful of coming metamorphosis into Mad Old Woman With Cats in Camel Barn. In fact, am now Embracing Manfiest Destiny with feeling of quite satisfaction.

victoriark said...

Here are a few of our least favourite things:
I tidy the fridge but can't put lids back on properly.
Obsessively wipe kitchen work surfaces time and time again with what ever comes to hand.
Mislay everything and then reduce myself to tears looking until I find.
Grizzle when I am tired.
He unplugs things but leaves the socket switch on.
Doesn't turn the washing the right way out before hanging to dry.
Alway reloads the dishwasher because I 'don't know how to do it'.
Splashes water everywhere. Usually after I have obsessively wiped.
It's just the pattern of our lives really.

carolinefo said...

last sentence of post typoed to hell - embracing manifest destiny, feeling of quiet satisfaction.

sorry - a little hyper this evening.

M. said...

My wardrobe is the floor.
I stay at home all day instead of going to the office and reply, whenever asked, "Yes, I'm leaving, in 10 minutes!"
I am incapable of hydrating myself. Drinks must be brought to me regularly throughout the day or I will let myself die of dehydration.
I leave my luggage unpacked for weeks after my return.
I leave my shoes in spots strategically chosen for other people to stub their toes on.
I take over every inch of clear space or flat surface with STUFF. Fimo, paperwork, hair ties, bits of ribbon, crumpled up receipts, twigs, STUFF.
I demand back scratches, imperiously, all the time.
I take sweetened condensed milk in my tea.

But he leaves the sponge and brush IN THE SINK. Ideally in a pool of festering, fetid, greasy cold water.

Waffle said...

Layla - Manfiest destiny sounds like "man feast destiny". Which seems like a goo destiny for you.

Waffle said...

I mean 'good'. Goo is just horrible.

sue said...

takes clothes out of the dryer and leaves them in the basket without folding them, then the cat makes a bed in them so they need to be washed again ad infinitum.

always shouts at the child at bedtime and never supervises child's teeth cleaning. HOWEVER, he will sniff the child's hands regularly during the week and tell him he needs to wash his hands because child might leave a 'smell on the mouse'(computer mouse).

never cooks, if I cook, I make something for everyone but if I do not, he will make cheese on toast for himself, this sends me postal.

spends obscene amounts of money on big ugly expensive hideous fountain pens which he stores in the attic and does not ink, ever. This makes me want to vomit.

has hideous taste in furniture.

gave me 50 quid a week when I was out of work a couple of years ago and would ask me what I spent it on when it ran out - tightwad bastard.

buys expensive cars and loves them more than me or the child.

says 'ah ah ah' when i move something on his obsessively tidy desk like I was four or something.


Hopelessly untidy, I cannot clean up regularly, but I do have massive cleaning frenzies every now and again and am bad tempered while cleaning.

completely incapable of routine which would explain the cleaning thing.

occasionally shouty but mostly sarcastic.

not very good at finishing things ie made lovely curtains but they have been hanging on the curtain poles for 18 months, possibly longer without hems, the pins fall on the floor sometimes and I am accused of causing a 'death trap'.

complain constantly of being tired but can stay up til all hours of the morning having a phone summit with BF and copious amounts of wine.

This blog is so much cheaper than therapy, how I love thee, Jaywalker.

mothership said...

I was going to leave another comment, but have been distracted by the wv and this one is
refrate which is like refrain and hate all rolled together. Perfect for today.
I am now humbled because clearly Husband's crimes not that noteworthy, and Sue, I actually want to kill yours much more than mine, just for the Ah Ah Ah's.
That would send me COMPLETELY DOOLALLY

Mrs Jones said...

Ooh this is a good one - it'll either be terribly cathartic for everyone to air their grievances or we'll all be queuing down the divorce court in the morning.

My bad habits:

Incapability of leaving a surface uncovered. There is, literally, stuff everywhere.

I don't really do housework unless someone's coming round, then I'll only do the rooms they're likely to go in. Although I have recently discovered that if you put fuck-off strong bleach down the bog several times a week, you don't need to scrub it.

I sometimes play my music too loud, he then gets all Dad on me and demands I turn it down or wear headphones.

Sometimes I insist on talking to him when he's trying to concentrate on reading something on the interwebulator or watching something on the telly. Then there's a pained sigh, deliberate pausing of the telly or looking up from the laptop (if I'm lucky, sometimes he'll just carry on reading) as he deigns to give me his attention like I'm some troublesome child. I fucking hate this.

I also frequently get ignored in general when I ask him questions. He claims he is deaf. He's not really. This makes me want to stab him.

He wanders off around the supermarket with the trolley while I go back to fetch something. We then can't find each other even though I told him to stay in one place. I've been known to ring him on his mobile to find out where the hell he's gone.

Ooh, ooh, just remembered 'the car park dance'. This also ties in with 'the restaurant table dance'. He absolutely cannot park in the first space he finds, nor can we sit at the first table offered.

He farts. A lot. I don't mind if it's just noise but hate it if there's 'fragrance'. Mine don't stink at all, of course.

Even if I'm cooking his evening meal which will be ready in precisely 5 minutes, he will still raid the fridge. This enrages me and I shout.

He refuses to spend money on the house, consequently we have no wallpaper in the sitting room and the roof still bastard leaks.

I've noticed a trend in the comments - it seems that our menfolk have deemed us incapable of loading the dishwasher correctly. Mine's the same. He's just the same with packing suitcases (although I have to admit he is much better at this than me and always gets more stuff in). For this I do actually call him "The Queen of Packing" to his face.

To balance this, though, can we do a list of things that we're good at? Because he is very good at quite a lot of stuff really which is why we're celebrating our 13th wedding anniversary tomorrow.

Mrs Jones said...

Sorry, meant to do my bad habits first and then his but I got carried away and it all sort of just blended into one rant.

wv is 'mingrac' - vaginal storage facility?

Mrs Jones said...

As an aside, I've just seen this fabulous aid to slatternly housekeeping - now, I only wish I had a crawling baby....

sue said...

mothership - thank you, it's not just me then. I swear, one day, he'll get it, come round if you like and help me. Somebody I complained him to at work suggested I entertain the idea of a false burglary and steal all his pens and sell them, wanna come and help? I would pay to see the look on his face, the miserable fucker. Sorry. /runs away ashamed/

Waffle said...

Er, Sue, I think I love you.

Anonymous said...

I will kill him for:
Hovering and re-doing kitchen tasks when I've just done them, and while I'm standing right there. Re-loading dishwasher, adjusting temperatures, seasoning, stirring, etc. We wonder why I go into months-long slumps where I don't bother to lift a finger, molding the sofa to my precise bottom-shape.

Taking library books on vacation. (Had several working-class childhood disasters related to losing library books.)

Tutting my free-pour of laundry soap, grabbing bottle, and measuring it out precisely himself. Sorting the laundry into minute categories of color gradation.

Putting up with persistent smell of elusive dog wee but hissing through clenched teeth about the occasional smell of the (my) cat's litter box.

Asking salespeople for help in shops, when it is obvious they know even less than we do.

Not answering the phone for me, or handing it to me when I'm silently choking out "NO NO NO NO!!". Not going down to get the chinese food delivery for me.

Closing the blinds during the day due to a "glare" on computer monitor and TV that only he can perceive.

Suggestibility to innovative products advertised on television. "Scent-guard" bin bags. Technologically advanced pizzas. Devices that promise to end cord clutter. Etc.

Wanting the good life, as he was raised--wine on hand, nice clothing, latest electronics, clean and lovely home--but expecting that controlling parents will somehow provide at xmas and birthdays, and that I am content to limp along looking like a teenaged boy in between.

The way his entire person clenches and visibly shrinks inward by an inch when I walk through the door with a shopping bag.

That he MUST cook from a recipe, followed exactly, each bit chopped carefully...rendering dinner time 10 PM.

He will kill me for:
Constant desire to spend money; whimsical, magical-thinking approach to responsibilities; short attention span; prodding him to discuss dangerous topics when drunk at 1AM or during stressful work deadlines; slap-dash methods in kitchen and laundry matters and willingness to shrug shoulders when results disappoint. Refusal to answer phone and deal with all food delivery persons.

Anonymous said...

Oh also: I constantly rearrange furniture, artwork, dishes in cupboards, forcing him to the point of frustrated tears when he can't find anything in his own home.

sue said...

JW, why?

Roshni said...

Wet towels on the bed!!! Gaaah!!! I cannot STAND that and everday I have to tolerate thinking that by evening, my bed will be a stinky sodden mess if I forgot to check before leaving!!

The Spicers said...

I hope this is more cathartic than rage-inducing.
refuse to make phone calls of any kind, particularly for medical reasons, forcing husband to do it and then getting angry when he schedules my doctor appointments for inconvenient times.

only practice shame-induced housekeeping, totally dependent on the presence of guests

wake him up in the middle of night to check on children, but never get up to do it myself

rearrange the dishes he loads in the dishwasher

when forced to prepare dinner, sigh and stomp about like a child

allow food stores to run dangerously low, despite my being home all day and capable of shopping

spend money indiscriminately, but complain when he does

I could go on, but that's probably enough. I don't know how I even live with myself, I'm so unbearable.

uses an obscene amount of half and half in his coffee, causing us to run out daily

eats only meat, cheese and whipped cream, making family meals impossible

MUST go to the gym every single day, always

employs a method of "cooking" that involves searing food at the highest temperature, then turning the stove off and letting it sit awhile. Result: burnt, but tepid and congealed mystery dishes that neither the children nor I will touch

leaves his 40 or so pairs of shoes all over the house, often with the socks draped over the top

takes at least 20 minutes to leave the house after he announces he's leaving

Well, I'm not sure I feel any better...

Nimble said...

Yes, separate next-door apartments are the answer. I proposed this to my live-in boyfriend before we decided to get married. (He got a hurt look on his face when I proposed this, kind of sweet.) It wasn't financially feasible for us and maybe that was a danger signal right there. It would have been better if both of us had had enough money to afford adjoining apartments.

Before I had children I was a neurotic mess uninterested in housework. I felt guilty about living in squalor but also felt my energy had better things to do outside of my house. Now that motherhood has whipped me into shape I am convinced that I *could* lead a well organized life. Well, a neat life at least. If I could just get rid of the children. And maybe the husband.

My husband hates housework and yardwork. Fair enough. But sometimes his loathing of clutter drives him to do some housework or yardwork. And he gets into a fury while doing it and is ugly to me and our kids. That makes me want to spike his refreshing glass of iced tea.

He would probably like to wring my neck for leaving my bags, coats, etc. just inside the back door for him to trip over.

Artichoke Queen said...

Shackass@ Wow, Sue, I would murder your husband, no joke. How do you do it?

I live alone, and woe betide the man who ever tries to break that cozy little arrangement. Everything must be the way I want it, and other people's mess/methods/suggestions are not welcome. I'm sure I would be horrible to live with, even though I am quite domestic and happily cook and clean. Just a for instance -- I can happily leave dishes, tidily stacked, in the sink all day, but someone else's cup there for an HOUR will drive me nuts. Irrational? Of course...

Waffle said...

Sue - dunno. The honesty I think. And living with that man. And the suggestion of pen burglary. don't question my love!

there is a LOT of material here. I will be back shortly.

Jessica K said...

I am working on my list, but just wanted to say your poisoning scenario reminds me of the joy I feel occasionally in contemplating my wood chipper/crawl space with lime scenario.

Cassandra said...

My dearest Jay

I cannot list in the comments box as LLG and fabhat both know Mr C in real life and I feel that to do so would be unfair. HOWEVER, I HATE HIM SO MUCH CE SOIR that you can expect a long and lurid detailed e-mail all about it. Not sure whether I'll be able to write it this evening as am SO enraged but at some point, baby. Have been having all the deep dark thoughts about running away again. Quite amazing that you posted this just now. I WISH that I had the balls to spill the beans on my own blog, would be so cathartic, but I can't do it.

Also - Under Milk Wood an absolute ALL TIME fave. Cannot tell you how much I LOVE LOVE LOVE it - has cheered me up to read your extracts. See you in the squat? Wish I could hop on the eurstar NOW. Cxxx (three xs, looks like the C-word, probably Mr C thinks I AM one tonight. Feeling defo mutual)

Cassandra said...

ps totally agree about Sue. That thing about storing fountain pens in the attic and then staging a burglary has MADE MY FUCKING NIGHT

Pochyemu said...

Oh, Jaywalker, I am so onto you. You are trying to trick me into composing a 2,000 word comment on all the ways my husband annoys me. But I've had such a long day writing my dissertation that I refuse to fall for your dirty trick. I might be persuaded to create a snarky powerpoint presentation on the subject but a long, convoluted, venemous comment? I. Don't. Think. So.

However, I will say this: I have asked Robert almost daily for 4 years to twist shut the fucking bag of the loaf of bread. He appears to be physically incapable of preventing the new loaf of bread that I have just bought to replace the old loaf of bread that went completely dry the LAST time he left the bread open. I have tried leaving notes attached to the bread, shouting, crying, threatening never to buy bread again...nothing works. Asshole.

Karen Redman said...

We live at opposite ends of the clock but, when we do see each other for longer periods than just grunting at each other as we pass on the stairs:
I am the obsessive wiping person and he is the carefree splasher - and sadly not just round sinks.
I never lose keys EVER (which bearing in mind we run a courier company with several vehicles, is quite an asset). He has opened an account at local locksmiths to replace keys that he's lost before he THINKS I'm aware - one of his not very cunning ploys.
I can vacuum the whole house thoroughly whilst remaining (at least in my own mind) graceful and fragrant in the same time it takes him to vacuum one small room having broken into an almighty and very unpleasant looking sweat.
I can read a newspaper silently and by the time I've finished with it, it still looks as neat as it was before I'd started. He reads a newspaper and scrunches whilst he's reading snippets of stories to me that I've already read.
And why when he goes up to bed at PRECISELY 10.20pm does he have to tell me EVERY night that he thinks I should put the dishwasher on and open the lounge window.
Some of the most enjoyable and memorable times I spend with him are those when we pass on the stairs.
Happy days.

GingerB said...

Oooh, you people are intolerable. US TOO! See for yourself:

My husband plays video games. Every goddamn night until I kick him off so I can read blogs. ARRGGHH! I hate it so. I hate to hear the little pixellated creatures with their fake screams. I hate World of Warcraft and I hate Crusader, with its fake little horses neighing as long bows rain down arrows on their soldiers because my husband has failed to provide enough ale and churches to his wee population. And because I often exclain to him, "Lord, Honey are you playing that crap game again?!?" he has now named his character Lord Honey.

My husband has poor time management skills. I will kill him one day for making me late with his laid back ways. Like most people with penis parts (sorry about that) he cannot see consequences - failing to think about what is happening next until it is happening and all the hours of the day drop into the cavernous hole of time gone by.

My husband is in Scientology. I'm not saying anymore, since this was supposed to be cathartic and make me feel better.

Me? I am controlling, bitchy, always right, and I have death ray vision, which is a facial expression whereby I let him know with one glance that he is a waste of space.

I don't know how we got married in the first place. Oh yes, I remember part of it now. I'll tell those tales if you ask. Right now he doesn't deserve any compliments, and possibly, nor do I.

Jessica K said...

Yes, Jaywalker, your timing is perfect.
I have discovered that we are divided by our common language, and not just because he is British and I am Ammurcan.
I love Sue too and want to be a pen burglar.
Cassandra, I wish I knew you because we could vent together via email.
Sorry, that does sound rather crazy, but crazy, but Mothership can vouch for me (er, I think).

GingerB said...

I can't stop hatching little plans involving those pens, my husband's unread L. Ron Hubbard books, wet towells, soaking dishes, and those millions of dirty man-socks laying about our homes.

A ritual burning, anyone? Anyone?

Waffle said...

Ow! These trousers are way too tight for all the hysterical laughing you are making me do! Stop it stop it.

sue said...

JW - if you could buy 8 pairs of Loubs by nicking 1 fountain pen and flogging it, you would feel the same. The 'small' things pale into insignificance and perhaps I was too honest. I wasn't questioning you my darling blue Jay, just wondering which bit made you love me, am nosey to the point of paranoia. x

victoriark said...

Oh M. you could be my twin.
Bf. laughed so much, he was convinced it was me.
Especially the back scratch which I love while drinking my coffee in the morning.

mountainear said...

Moi? - not an infuriating bone in my body - although I am frequently accused of now saying what I mean. Why can't men just get to grips with oblique references?

Small price to pay for 35 years of raised toilet seats, farts and dumb questions.

redfox said...


Wanders through house opening things (doors, drawers, jars) and not closing them again

Is perpetually incapable of recognizing that the little thingy one must pull out of a new milk carton spigot could be put into the garbage instead of the middle of the kitchen counter and left there forever

Fails to wipe the water fully from the mustache bit of his beard after having a drink and then kisses me (truly, this is horrid)

Does some but never QUITE all of the washing up, with the left-over items invariably being something I need to use to make dinner.


God, where to begin

Refuse to make phone calls or answer the phone (Vanessa and iheartfashion are my soulmates!)

Sigh deeply and passive-aggressively at his piles of things while creating my own on other surfaces (but mine are TIDY piles! is the rationale, yet the effect is not actually one of tidiness)


Require to be waited on hand and foot rather than make my own evening cocktail or morning coffee

Make him run all kinds of irritating errands because he works from home, even though he works far more diligently and at greater length than I ever do

Am so very lazy

Have champagne tastes and indulge them, despite mere beer income

katyboo1 said...

I cannot stop thinking about your husband and his pens. I know everyone else has said this, but I read your comment and thought 'wow! how does she live with him.' Then I read everyone else's and I STILL have to comment.

Goddamit woman. You are a saint in human form.

Oh yes, and generally I forgot to add that I cry a lot, including today at the nice trolley tidy up man in B&Q who was so nice I had to weep gently. Even I find that annoying and I cannot run away from myself.


One word, dear ones: separation. I will not provide a list, but simply voice the opinion that separate bedclothes, separate bedrooms (difficult to steal the bedclothes if you're in another room), separate laptops, separate butter dishes (in your case, Jaywalker) are key. It will cut down on the murder tickling in your fingertips no end. All this getting on another's nerves is simply antagonising of ancient and deep-seated territorial instinct.

Z said...

It takes 30 years. If you're still together and don't hate each other then, you've cracked it.

tragicanon said...

my worst habits: dumping soggy, wet towels all over his life, on the floor, on his bed, on his sofa, in his suitcase and not loving him enough.. his worst habits: not being able to stand my friends for more than an hour but insisting on joining us on nights out, losing his oyster card and then borrowing mine using all the credit and putting it back in my purse without saying anything, picking his scabs in front of me and being excessively needy and pathetic but in a manner that makes me pity him rather than loathe him..

Rebecca said...

We don't have a dishwasher but if we did I know I'd be doing it wrong. I'm not allowed to wash up cos I don't do it 'right'. He on the other hand will wash the glasses last, leaving scummy marks on my wine glasses. He complains about how much I drink (well of course it looks a lot next to a teetotaller), he has to watch TV last thing at night or he will DIE, he watches the Simpsons every sodding day, he leaves balled up underpants around the bedroom, and he plays the guitar loudly at night and we live in a terraced house.

I leave the butter out (I'm weird and I like it soft enough to spread that way), I don't clean, I clean the bathroom in my underwear, I spend too much time on the internet or my phone, I'm a rubbish cook, I spend too much money on just, well, everything, I'm not working right now... .

We're both saints, some days. Love, love is all you need?

ptooie said...

Rebecca- my husband watches Family Guy every day. I'd much prefer Simpsons.
My darling husband has a knack for making me feel inept at any housework I attempt. Especially anything involving cleaning the kitchen. When he goes on cleaning binges (generally a mild one each weekend, with a larger one every few weeks) he becomes quite the asshole. Snips at me, snips at children, threatens bodily harm to his cat. He also refuses to admit that getting our daughters to bed on time could possibly be worth pausing his cleaning. (if he's home, they want him to read a story)
And then he wonders why I tend to grab the girls and vanish when I see the cleaning start.
I'm no saint myself- my stuff tends to fill all available space. I have papers and nail polish and pens on every table above child height (and some that aren't). I have a hard time making decisions that I feel should somehow include him (such as, what to have for dinner) and pester him for input, which drives him batty.
There's more but I must run out the door to work.
wv is 'hedun' which is just perfect!

Anonymous said...

Ahahahaha oh what a rich topic and deserving of a greater length answer than I have time for, but some highlights:

1. Generates obscene amounts of body heat in bed and refuses to accept that he snores.

2. Blames all my problems on not doing enough exercise and taking naps on the sofa (he believes the sofa is A Silent Killer of backs)

3.Prefers to leave all clothes out for clothes fairy to deal with rather than deal wit them himself, which is OK by me actually because when he does put them away he puts them away in the wrong places and this drives me more insane than anything.

4. Keeps telling me I need to lose weight and be in better shape for health reasons (and the fact that he means this with the purest of intentions and that he is technically correct does not stop me from wanting to throttle him).

5. Does not consider walking a valid form of exercise, or a legit Olympic sport.

There are many more, and my own list of faults isjust as comprehensive but I'm tired and particularly irritable today due to Monthly Female Affliction.

3limes said...

Oh dear. Who the hell invented marriage?

bevchen said...

te hard butter as well - it's impossible to spread! Which is why I started buying margerine. These days the butter is only used for cooking.

I hate it when he cracks things. By "things" I mean things like knuckles and, worst of all, his neck!! It makes me feel physically sick.

I'm sure I have many irritating habits but can't think of anything that really annoys him right now.

Grit said...

dig breathes in a funny way. i, on the other hand, have no faults whatsoever. really, he should be grateful.

JChevais said...

He eats all the dairy products in the house in one sitting.

He can turn a clean kitchen into a froth of stuff on all cupboard surfaces in less than three seconds.

I buy too many books that I'll probably never get around to reading.

Ignore the day care bills until the Tresor Public starts sending out threats. Actually. I ignore all bills. I also hate the phone.

The Return of the Native ... sort of. said...

Are we all married to the same man?!