It's been an exhausting day. I was so pleased with myself. I spent the entire day until it was time to get my kids from school, working on the living room. I didn't know it needed that much work but when I started ripping and tearing, it was obvious how long it's been since I'd done that. About 2 years, actually, as that was when the carpet was ripped out and the hardwood was put down. I threw away a gigantic bag of trash and made it look like a room in a model home. I was thrilled.
I picked up my kids, went to Ikea, and we picked up new knobs for the kitchen cabinets which were broken and dated. I got home in time to eat my cucumbers and my sorbet before I had to drive 40 minutes to show 3 homes. My husband came home as I was working on the cucumbers. I told him I loved him and off I went.
I showed homes to buyers who have looked at homes with me since May. Their home finally sold last month and we've gone through 2 failed offers - one because the inspection came back with all kinds of problems and the other was the appraisal came back way low. These poor people. 5 months later.
Anyway, I arrived home at close to 8 pm. The kids were in bed and my husband was sprawled out on the couch watching TV. The laundry was right where I left it. The dishes from dinner were right where they left them. I proceeded to change out the laundry, and fold it. I then went to load the dirty dishes in the dishwasher as I made myself my chicken. I came across a dish with dried on ketchup. It was the final straw. I've asked OVER and OVER again for them to rinse the dishes. It shouldn't be too much to ask. I lost it.
"What the hell does it take to get anyone in this goddamned house to rinse a goddamned dish?!"
His response?
"All you had to do was ask."
I was so upset, what came out of my mouth next I'm sure was incoherent dribble. I know I tried to basically get across the fact that I had asked, and that it shouldn't be a leap to figure out when the laundry needs changing or when the dishes should be loaded and I shouldn't be picking up his cigarette butts for that matter. I just flat out LOST. IT. He went down to the living room and slammed the door to the basement.
"What the hell was THAT for?"
(insert snarky sarcastic idiotic tone here) "I just want to know why no one in this house can close this door".
Now the logical, sensible person in me knows that he's reacting out of guilt. The I haven't-lost-any-weight-in-almost-3-weeks-despite-500-calories-a-day-and-working-both-inside-and-outside-of-the-home-asking-for-simple-help-over-and-over-and-no-one-giving-a-damn-about-that me wanted to scream.
We're not really talking, needless to say.
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1 comment:
{{hugs}}
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