Well, I am home and all rested up. While I was away pretending to be a rock star in Las Vegas, my husband cleaned the house, organized the laundry closet, the master closet, the top of the fridge, the playroom, the pantry. All the places that are a disorganized mess, but at least I know exactly where everything is.
Caveat directed specifically to my husband: Now, honey, I know you will read this and please, please, please do not think I don't appreciate your efforts. This post is meant to be funny and other women will totally and completely understand the humor in it. You will not. Please don't divorce me or refuse to clean ever again. I love you and am so grateful for you in more ways than one.
Now back to our regularly scheduled programming. As I walked into my house, the first room I noticed was the play room. Spectacularly organized and picked up! Loved it. Then I saw the pantry, again, beautifully organized according to category. Perfect. He is grinning wildly when he points out the reorganized cabinets and gleaming stainless steel cannisters. I am like a zombie on my feet, at this point in time so I just continued thanking him as he gleefully shows me all his hard work.
Then I noticed my pile of papers was missing from next to the charging station and my basket of medicines is not on the the ledge. The warning bells start whistling ever so slightly. You all know what I mean. Oh, good God what has he done with all my stuff!
I walk into the bedroom where he has cleaned off the dresser and moved shit all around. Where were my pile of papers, that were right next to the printer, I asked as sweetly as humanly possible. He pointed to behind the printer where he had gathered all of my papers from all over the house and placed them.
Now yes, I do have a filing system, I just only file all the crap once about every 6 weeks. Okay, so maybe it isn't much of a system, but whatever. I look at all the mail that comes in and it goes in one of 3 stacks throughout the house. But I know exactly what is in each of the those 3 stacks. I know there are has got to be someone out there who does the same. Anyone?
Anyhow, yesterday morning, I arose with the turkeys at 7. Mind you, they had slept well past 8am for Daddy that past couple of days. I was still exhausted and sluggishly moving throughout the house. The kids wanted some yogurt for breakfast so I get the tubes out of the fridge and of course my fingers don't want to cooperate in the opening of the tube of yogurt so I reach for my scissors in my glass of pens which is usually right next to the sink. The cup and scissors are not there.
I open a couple of drawers before the annoyance reaches its boiling point. I stalk into the bedroom where I jolt my husband out of his peaceful slumber and I lovingly say,
"Where the EFF are the scissors and my pens?" I then launch into a full diatribe. "You do this every time you clean. You always move my cup of scissors and pens. I use that cup every day. I like where it is. Do not touch it ever again! Now where the eff are my scissors in pens."
He looks at me and grumbles, "In the basket, on top of the fridge."
Why on God's green earth he decided that would be a good place to put them, I do not know. After cutting open the boys tubes o' yogurt, I put my damn cup with the scissors and pens right back where it belonged. Did I stop there? Oh, no.
I started to do laundry. I started the water, dragged the dirty clothes into the hallway and looked for the little cup to dispense the detergent into. What I find is a clearly old, gummy not-meant-for-2x-concentrated-laundry-detergent cup. So I stalk in there again.
"Where is the cup for the laundry soap?"
"On the shelf."
"You mean this disgusting, not correct thingy." Huff, sigh, stomp out.
Not one of my prouder mornings. I was definitely high up there on the bitch-o-meter.
I, of course, much later, profusely apologized but let him know that it is difficult to not know where things are, especially when you are a control freak. I really wish I had some tape to put over my mouth sometimes. I'm sure he does too.
Then, as I am getting ready for work that afternoon, I am searching high and low for my tie. I remember specifically leaving it on my dresser. No tie. The other place I often leave it, is on top of my fridge. No tie. But I did find my basket of medicines. Huh.
I am close yet again to reaching the boiling point when I decide to check the laundry basket. There at the bottom, it lay.
My work shoes were another story. I had to call him for that one. I was nice this time.
"Hi honey. Where are my work shoes?"
"Which shoes are those?"
"My black skechers." I was gritting my teeth at this point, but held it in.
"Oh, those are in the blue tub in the back of the closet."
"What the He-- never mind, 'kay thanks, bye."
I'll have more about the actual trip to vegas Monday. I can't wait to tell you about Lady Luck, ice and my experience on "The Price is Right Live."
Love and peace,